


Honest to Goddess

by garbagegirls



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/F, Fluff, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:32:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagegirls/pseuds/garbagegirls
Summary: To fulfill a prophecy that would bring balance to the universe, only one thing must happen: the twin flames must join and ignite.It should be easy, right?Wrong.(A Goddess romcom AU in which everyone is clueless as to what the prophecy is really saying. Spoiler alert: It's that Clarke and Lexa must fall in love. Rating is likely to change at a later date, FYI.)





	1. Oh My Goddess

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, no problem! But actually, this is probably full of errors. Hope you enjoy!

Golden strands are splayed across white linens while blue eyes stare blankly into the distance when Octavia enters the room. Octavia sighs as she takes the other goddess in – lethargic, uncertain, apathetic. It’s rather depressing to see someone who is literally full of life wasting away.

“If you do not get out of bed today, I will owe Bellamy another golden arrow.”

Clarke turns her head to see Octavia walking towards her bed, pursing her lips as her friend approaches.

“And you blame me for your foolishness?”

“I will not blame you for the agreement nor the terms; however, my supply is diminishing rapidly and still you remain in this bed. What is it that humans say in such scenarios? Bros before hos?” Octavia asks with a smirk on her face. Clarke regards the brunette quietly for a moment, and when she releases a small chuckle, Octavia’s smirk stretches to a full smile.

“You truly never cease to surprise me, O; though, I should add that if you are going to embrace human culture it would be wise understand the dialect before using it.”

“Is that phrase not applicable in this situation?” Octavia huffs with a cocked brow.

“Well, I am no expert, but I believe human males use it to signify their loyalty to one another over human females. Your point, in turn, was that I am choosing my bed over your well-being.”

“I do not see the difference,” Octavia says, smirking once more. “I am asking you to be loyal to me over your bed.”

“O,” Clarke says through a toothy grin, and Octavia celebrates internally because it’s been so long since Clarke has smiled so genuinely. “My bed is a bed, and only a bed.”

“So, nothing can be multifaceted then? I am only the Goddess of War, and nothing more?”

Clarke chuckles at her friend’s faux outrage, then throws her hands up to play along, “Yes! We will feast tonight to celebrate, for we are finally free of living under the pretense that there is more to you than what meets the eye! Huzzah!”

Octavia stares at Clarke straight-faced for a moment, then tosses herself on Clarke’s bed without warning, fingers poised to tickle Clarke into submission. The giggles are plentiful and sincere and Octavia can’t tell if they’re mostly coming from her or her blonde best friend. When the laughter fades, the two lay together, looking up at Clarke’s ceiling in silence until Octavia speaks up.

“Does _action_ qualify a ho? Because this bed has seen a lot of action.”

And then Clarke is giggling again and Octavia feels the brunt of musing in playful swats of one of Clarke’s many feather pillows. When silence fills the room once more, Octavia dare not interrupt, but finds herself relieved when Clarke doesn’t feel the need to settle into prolonged silence.

“Humanity is so strange,” she says, dreamily and dazed, blue orbs once again lost in the distance.

“It is their right to be,” Octavia rasps as she turns her body to rest her cheek against Clarke’s mattress, eyes trained on the blonde.

Clarke smiles as she turns to mirror Octavia’s position – cheek against the bed, eyes peering back into those that search hers.

“I am musing – I meant it only as an observation.”

Octavia nods, a beat between her racing thoughts and voicing them. “Do you still look to the ground?” the brunette asks, wondering if she will get a reply this time. Clarke has been so closed off for so long that if she opens up at all now it will be of great relief.

“I…,” she starts, then releases a long, drawn-out sigh, and just as about Octavia is about to comfort her friend, Clarke starts again. “Do you remember the first time we looked to the ground?”

“Of course, it was a fairy tale to us, just as the Heavens are to humanity.”

“You and Bellamy liked it – you thought it was _cool_ , but…”

“But you were moved,” Octavia says, and Clarke nods.

“You and Bell looked down and saw the whole world, bright and shining and dark and dreary, and you took it all in – the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, and then you washed your hands of it. But when I looked down, I saw the same girl over, and over, and over again. I first thought it peculiar – how strange to gaze upon the ground, as big as it is, but see only one girl. But then – when it happened, when I saw her get hit by that automobile – I saw it for what it was: punishment for disobedience. We are not meant to look upon the ground, Octavia; and yet, still I look and look, and in the end, all I feel is emptiness.”

“Because you do not see her?”

Clarke nods, “That automobile took her from the world, and from me.”

“Always so theatrical. You might as well be the Goddess of Drama,” Octavia comments, and before she can finish, she feels the smack of a hand upside her head.

“As if!” Clarke scoffs, sitting up in her bed.

“Have you considered that she may still be alive?” Octavia asks as she follows her friend’s motion to sit upright. When Clarke purses her lips together and furrows her brow – when the blonde’s eyes gloss over and her head bows to stare at her fiddling hands – Octavia worries Clarke will collapse horizontally into her bed once more, walls reinforced to fall gracefully back into catatonia. But then Clarke speaks, and Octavia is careful to listen.

“I am more willing to consider that I am mad, or that it was all a fever dream.”

“Because gods become delirious all the time,” Octavia comments, because sarcasm is a human concept not lost on her. “Will you tell me again?”

Clarke looks up from her hands for a moment before looking to Octavia, and with a small nod, she returns her gaze to her hands.

“It was my thirteenth birthday. I had been looking to the ground every day since the first day, months before. I remember that when I woke up, I was so excited to learn what the universe had in store for me. Would I be the Goddess of Reason? The Goddess of Fortune? I went to find my mother that morning, but as I entered her quarters, I heard her arguing with Thelonious about something, so I left for fear they would think I was eavesdropping. I still do not know what they were arguing about, but it sounded heated. It was so early that morning that mostly everyone was asleep, so I found myself back in my bedroom and looking upon the ground, and that’s when I saw it: the girl was crossing the road when an automobile struck her. There was so much blood. It was nighttime, and yet I could see it everywhere. And some part of me broke – I just remember blinking and feeling as if I was there, on the ground with the girl, looking into her eyes as they powerlessly fell shut. I could feel her heartbeat slow and her warmth drain, and it felt like my whole body was burning and it was unbearable. So, I turned, and I saw the automobile, and I felt anger for the first time. I remember being so overwhelmed and disoriented by everything – my sight blurred as my eyes wondered from the motionless girl to the car, and then suddenly, the automobile went up in flames. When I blinked, I was back in my bed. Every time I have gazed upon the ground since, she is not there.”

“Thank you for sharing, Clarke,” Octavia says, leaning forward to embrace the other goddess. “I know it has been hard for you to open up, especially since Finn.”

“Do not thank me when I should be the one thanking you. We may not be blood but you are the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have and I love you unconditionally.” Clarke squeezes Octavia, running a hand through brunette hair. “Though, I must admit that unconditionally is easy when you are a loyal, compassionate, and truthful friend to me always.”

Octavia feels a pang of guilt sound across her chest but smiles despite herself. The façade she fronts has never been easy to maintain – a mask of lies is still a mask of lies not matter the intention behind it – but balance requires sacrifice, and if anyone knows the importance of sacrifice, it’s the Goddess of War.

And this is war.

* * *

“How is our little flame?”

“Meek,” Octavia answers as she walks into the dark room. When she sees Bellamy’s shoulders tense up at the admission, she sighs. “She is still heartbroken.”

“Over Finn?” he asks, and she nods.

“Finn, and the girl.”

“She mentioned the girl?” Bellamy retorts, brows shooting up from surprise. “She has not mentioned the girl since we have come of age.”

Octavia nods knowingly as she and her brother share a look before turning their attention toward the darkness and the low hum that sounds from it.

“Has she seen the girl?” a voice asks from the gloom.

“She has not,” Octavia says to an impatient sigh.

“We are running out of time!”

“Mother,” Bellamy starts.

“Quiet, my son. Allow me to think.”

The silence is so thick that after only a minute Octavia has a hard time swallowing. There is no right move, no sure play here – whatever plan her mother devises in the dark will set them on a path from which they cannot return; it will be burned onto their souls for all eternity, should they last that long.

“Octavia,” her mother says, stepping forward into the light, “I think it’s time to ride or die.”

“Mother?” Octavia replies with a cocked brow, “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that you and Clarke are going to the ground.”

Octavia feels her mouth fall open before she hastily clinches it shut. Her head is swimming with questions, the first of which being – the _ground_? She wants to say something – anything – and though her mouth is moving, nothing is coming out, because wow – what a turn of events. Luckily, Bellamy’s voice fills the silence before too long, affording her time to collect herself.

“Wait, you’re sending them both to the ground? Mother –”

“There is no time for debate, Bellamy. We are at the end. This is our last move. Now, Octavia, please take Clarke to the ground under the guise of a girl’s weekend, or whatever the humans call it, and I will play the part of concerned mother with Abigail. When you are there, you will want to find a man named Lincoln. He will help you ignite the flames.”

Bellamy hums, “And what will you tell her – Abigail, I mean?”

“I will tell her that the girls have gone wild.”

Octavia nods. This should work. Octavia being a bad influence and whisking Clarke away to party on the ground is quite believable.

Dangerous, but believable. Actually, it is likely to be believable because it is so dangerous, and Octavia would be lying if she didn’t like to challenge her immortality every now and again.

“Mother, you might not want –”

“Bellamy, for the last time, take pity on your mother and silence yourself,” Aurora huffs, raising her hand to her head.

“But –”

“Bell? Just let it go,” Octavia suggests to diffuse the situation.

“But you can’t tell Abby the girls have gone wild!” Bellamy erupts and Octavia’s eyes go wide. When she looks at Aurora, she finds the woman tightlipped, sparking like a faulty fuse, or _whatever_ it is that the humans say.

“And, why can’t I? Am I not the matriarch of this family? Am I not allowed to speak freely?”

“It’s not that, it’s just – it’s this thing, a very inappropriate thing – and I don’t think Abby would want to hear that her daughter has left Arkadia to do _that_. Though,” Bellamy adds, contemplatively, “I’ll bet it would bring humanity great joy.”

“What, specifically, would Abigail not want Clarke to do, Bellamy? Go wild? Is it men only who can let their hair down? I am sure she will be concerned, but I believe she would agree that girls, sometimes, they just want to – and deserve to – have fun.”

Octavia sighs because, well – this – _again_.

“I am sorry to interrupt, dear family, but I must bid you ado. Important work is to be done, and as such, the girls must go wild.”

And for a surprising second, the older immortals humor her and stop their bickering – an all too brief pause filled with embraces from them both – and then, like clockwork, they are back at it again and she is out the door, already preparing for what’s to come. Tonight, if and after Clarke falls asleep, she will transport them to the ground. If Clarke stays awake – she’ll knock her unconscious.

Fortunately, it is the former.

* * *

When Clarke wakes, her eyes flutter open slowly. Her vision is a bit blurry it seems, and everything feel just a little… off. When everything comes into focus, her eyes go wide, focusing on a sly Octavia posing a wicked grin, hands clinched under her chin as she lays on her stomach beside Clarke.

“Octavia!” Clarke rasps, looking around. Wherever they are, it is not Arkadia, and thus, Clarke finds herself _kind of freaking out_. When Octavia’s grin deepens, Clarke realizes she isn’t going to offer anything up willingly, so she takes ahold of a pillow and readies herself to strike.

“Octavia,” she sings, “Where are we?”

Octavia hums through her mischievous smile, eyebrows shooting up in amusement.

“Octavia!” she yells, before swinging the pillow and connecting with the top of Octavia’s head. The brunette giggles and reaches up to cover herself. When Clarke ceases the attack, Octavia leans to the side, lifting one elbow off the bed to use a hand to smooth over her mussed hair.

“The Four Seasons,” she admits, finally.

“The what?”

“It’s a hotel.”

“A hotel,” Clarke parrots.

“A nice hotel, actually,” Octavia adds, then she sighs dreamily, “I never knew Earth could be so luxurious.”

And it takes a minute for Clarke to register what Octavia is saying, because what exactly is Octavia saying? That now she knows Earth can be luxurious? How would she know that?

She looks to Octavia, who glares at her expectantly with sparkling eyes and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. It’s obvious that she’s waiting for Clarke to put it all together – Clarke can tell – but it’s taking too long. Clarke huffs impatiently, trying to understand, because the only place with hotels is Earth and there’s no way – because even though Octavia is – she’s not – like, she’d never – right?

And then –

“Oh my god, Octavia, you didn’t!” she gasps, because human idioms are now all the more relevant.

“I did!”

“What are you – why did you – what were you thinking!”

“Well, I was kind of thinking that I’m tired of giving Bellamy my arrows. They take a long time to make! Oh, _and_ that my best friend might benefit from a girl’s trip, you know: get out, see the sights, maybe – maybe – find a certain girl.”

“Are you unwell? Our mothers are going to tear this world apart looking for us, not to mention the wrath that Thelonious will rain down upon us!”

“Relax, Clarke. Bellamy is covering for us.”

“And what could he possibly say to account for our sudden disappearing act?”

“How should I know? Honestly, it is his problem.”

“Nice, O. Real nice.”

“You know, if you are sick with worry the entire visit, you will not enjoy it, and I thought that my best friend might want to, since she has been passionate about the ground from the first.”

Clarke’s heart is pounding in her chest. Her palms are sweating. She sees flaws all around her – in the stitching of the blankets and curtains and rugs, in the plastering of the walls and crown molding – and she releases a breath, because yes, if she’s on the ground she’s going to absorb as much of it as she can.

She’s going to enjoy it because this could be the only chance she has.

God! She is in a hotel! On the ground!

It is so surreal that she fears if she blinks, she’ll open her eyes to find herself back in her bed, just like the first time; though, to be fair the first time was an illusion.

Maybe this time is also an illusion, but it is a welcome one – one that will be burnt into her mind as infinitely as the one before it, but for different reasons, for good ones.

“I love you so much,” she says through a smile so big it reaches her eyes. “So, what now?”

“Hmm,” Octavia hums contemplatively, “Well, a man downstairs mentioned something about high tea.”

“High tea! Wow…” Clarke says, “What is that?”

“I have no idea. Shall we find out?”

And Clarke is nodding excitedly before Octavia finishes her question.

* * *

It's days later and it feels as though they have been everywhere in Washington, DC, and yet Octavia has not found any sign of a _living_ , non-statue-esque Lincoln. Clarke is so immersed in the sights, the culture, and people, that she does not notice Octavia speaking to nearly every person she sees about finding _this_ Lincoln character. What’s more is they all regard her strangely, as if it is not perfectly reasonable to ask someone if they know someone else.

“Octavia!” Clarke calls, hitting the brunette’s arm. She can barely hear anything over the loud music, but Clarke insisted on eating the food, and drinking the drinks, and dancing the dances, and so here they are, waiting in line for drinks at a bar on U Street.

“What did you say?”

“I said, that man is staring at you,” she yells, pointing across the bar.

Octavia turns her head to follow Clarke’s finger until it lands on a man standing in the far corner, and before she can mentally decide, her body has decided for her, and she’s marching over to him, with Clarke following closely behind her. She wants to get up in his face and ask him why he’s staring at them, but instead stops a few feet away and lets him speak first.

“Shit,” he slurs before pausing to give Octavia a once over, then continues, “You are a total babe. Like, far away you were hot, but up close you are sih-sih-sizzling.” His droopy daze then moves to Clarke, and he mumbles, “Damn, you too, mama.”

Octavia blinks. Part of her wants to punch the daylights of this guy, but some other part of her tells her to let it go.

“Jasper!”

Octavia hears someone yelling over the music in their direction, and the look on the slurring guy’s face tells her whoever is yelling is yelling for, or at, him.

“Shit,” he slurs again.

Octavia follows the guy’s eyes as they land on a shorter man walking their direction.

“Jasper, we’ve been looking for you everywhere! We’re about to go back to the hotel,” he says, before he sees Octavia and Clarke standing near the slurring guy. “Oh, hey, sorry. Hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“You didn’t!” Octavia hears Clarke blurt out. “We were just talking to your friend.”

Octavia chuckles to herself. This goddess. She is trying to learn everything about every human possible, and it’s as annoying as it is endearing.

“Oh? I hope he was behaving himself,” the shorter man replies. “Are you all here for the happy hour?”

“We are! We love happy hours. It’s so, great… when they’re happy.”

“Well, I think the group are going to be heading back to the hotel soon.”

“What hotel?” Octavia asks.

“Oh, the university hotel, where the convention is being held. Sorry, don’t mind me. I just assumed everyone was staying there. Where are you all staying?”

“The Four Seasons!” Clarke exclaims.

“Wow! That’s some upgrade. You all must be important.”

“Us? Nope. Not important. We’re just regular humans,” Octavia says.

The short man chuckles, “Aren’t we all? Well, the bus was on its way a few minutes ago, so if you two want a ride back to Georgetown, follow me!”

The short man then points to the taller, slurring man, then turns to point towards the exit. The taller man seems to get the hint, because after a sigh so dramatic that it is seen, though not heard, he is marching, the man turning to follow him. Then, of course Clarke starts to follow the shorter man, and Octavia follows suit.

Once they are all outside in the cool fall air, Octavia inhales, reveling in the way her lungs burn.

“There it is! Did I call it, or did I call it?” a woman says.

“The pamphlet said the bus would be here at nine, Ray.”

“But those pamphlets are always wrong,” the woman replies, “Oh good, Monty! You found the idiot.”

“He was upstairs, talking to these two,” the shorter man says. “By the way, I’m Monty.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Monty! I’m Clarke, and this is Octavia.”

“I’m Jasper. That’s my name,” the taller man says to no one in particular.

“Yeah, but we mostly call him Idiot, because he likes to disappear without telling anyone where he’s going.”

“And this peach is Raven,” Jasper replies, shoving his hands into his pocket.

The bus pulls up and they all start to board. Seats are chosen, and of course – of course – Clarke chooses to sit with these humans.

“So, what are your fields?” Raven asks.

“Um?” Clarke hums, cheeks tinged red with embarrassment.

“I’m an astrophysicist. Monty is in robotics. Jasper here is so _green_ that he’s obviously a botanist. What do you all study?”

“Oh, I like to study the ground.”

“Well, that really narrows it down,” Raven huffs, clearly amused. “And you?” she asks, looking to Octavia.

“I am a strategist.”

“Is that right? Are you going to solve global warming?”

“What’s to solve? The Earth feels cool to me,” Octavia responds, but unlike every other time someone has spoken to the woman, Raven stays silent.

They all do.

And it’s a bit unnerving to say the least. Did she just blow their cover?

When they all burst out laughing, she has no idea what caused the uproar, but is glad for the distraction.

* * *

 

It’s really quite incredible to get to see Earth this way, after years of seeing it from a distance. It’s greener, more defined – the air feels fresh and cool and it makes Clarke’s skin tingle and raise into these little bumps sometimes. She wonders if everyone gets those little bumps.

She wonders if the girl ever got them.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see you both at the convention tomorrow?” Monty asks. The bus dropped them off minutes ago and they are all now standing awkwardly outside of the hotel where their new friends are staying.

“Yes! We will see you tomorrow.”

“Right, well, have a good night, ladies,” Monty says, and as they’re all about to part for the evening, Raven starts _whooping_. And truly, it puts Clarke at a loss, because she is totally unfamiliar with this human action and doesn’t know what to make of it. Well, until she turns her head to see three of the most beautiful humans she has ever seen, in her limited interaction anyway, and one of the women has a face that is not entirely visible! _But damn, you too, mama._

The two women are through the door fairly quickly after the whooping begins, so Clarke thinks it might be insulting, if the look on the one woman’s face has anything to do with it; however, the man hesitates, gaze lingering past their new friends, and if she had to guess where exactly?

 _Definitely_ Octavia.

And she can’t blame him because Octavia is a _total babe_ , not to mention an honest-to-goddess, well… _goddess_.

* * *

She wakes to the sound of wind blowing through the balcony door, and it’s foolish, really – that she thought they’d have longer on the ground. Still though, she is nothing if not the goddess of war, so she steels herself, grabbing the dagger from underneath her pillow before throwing her feet over the side of the bed to slowly approach the balcony.

When she finally reaches it, she carefully peeks out and finds nothing, no one, not a stir outside. She breathes a small sigh of relief, wondering if it’s possible that the winds could blow the door open –

But then she turns around.

And a hand moves to her mouth to muffle her screams, but they don’t come.

Instead, she peers into the big, brown eyes of a man she saw earlier, until he retracts his hand and speaks.

“Why are you here?” he asks, and Octavia squints at him, hand twitching to grab at her hidden dagger.

“To sleep. That is what humans do at night, is it not? Why do you interrupt me?”

She smirks, doing a bit of a mental fist bump to celebrate how good she is getting really good at this whole pretending to be human thing.

He regards her silently for a moment and she wonders if he will burst out laughing like the other annoying humans did earlier that day.

“Just a note – saying ‘humans’ is kind of a dead giveaway, not that you’ll have the chance to try again.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, and he sighs.

“You don’t belong here, and you won’t be staying. You and your friend can pack your souvenirs up and be on your merry way back to where you came from.”

“Which is where, exactly?” Octavia challenges with a smug grin.

The man laughs heartily, “You think you’re that subtle, really? I wonder if all your kind are as clueless and arrogant as you.”

She’s scowling now, clinching her right fist as her left hand moves to her belt.

“Don’t even think about it,” the man speaks again, nodding towards her waistband. “This will not get violent.”

“You think I want this to get violent, do you?” she asks, pulling the dagger from her belt before pressing her body to his and the flat side of the blade against his neck. “Because of my weapon?”

“No,” he answers, voice unwavering and far too calm for Octavia’s liking. “Not because of your weapon.”

“Why then?”

“Because you are the Goddess of War.”

* * *

She wants to drop the blade or push it into the man’s neck, but she knows neither will have a desired outcome. Instead, she keeps the blade pressed to the man’s throat.

“How?” she spits through gritted teeth.

“How did I know?” he asks, and she nods. “The Earth is balanced. Two gods descending from the Heavens for a field trip or whatever offsets that balance. Speaking of which, again – why are you here?”

“I am here to find a man,” Octavia replies, then nods to Clarke, “she is here to see the world.”

“What do you want with the man you seek?”

“How do you know about know balance?”

He smirks, “Not all gods are in the Heavens.”

And she doesn’t mean to, really – she doesn’t, but she can’t help but gasp.

And if she’s being honest? It’s kind of embarrassing, especially because he’s clearly delusional.

“Now, what do you want with the man that you seek?”

“I need his help.”

“What could be so important for you to seek a mortal’s help?”

“There is a prophecy,” she starts, her gaze locking with his. “A prophecy that I am part of, that he is a part of. We are to help this prophecy come to pass if we wish to restore universal balance. And to be clear, I do not know if he is mortal. All I know is his name.”

“I am familiar with the prophecy of the twin flame, but what makes you think that you – and whoever else – are prophesized? I am only aware of a prophesized three, none of which are the Goddess of War.”

“How did you know I am the Goddess of War?” Octavia asks, too curiously enamored to register lowering her blade.

When he smiles genuinely, she finds herself smiling too. The why escapes her, but it is all moot and short lived, because grabs her wrist suddenly and she tenses, readying herself for a fight.

“Relax,” he says, chuckling as he turns her wrist over to expose her tattoo, “You bear her mark.”

“The prophecy speaks of the twin flame and the stoke, but there is also the part that says, ‘the eighth in the sky, arrows will guide, a lasso to still, the lakeside of will.’ In the Heavens, we have those devoted to interpreting these incorrigible rhymes, and from that passage, they’ve come up with me and the other.”

“How, exactly?”

“Well, I am the eighth child born of the six. I use all weapons, but have a thing for arrows.”

“Wow.”

“You look shocked, but it appears only as a pretense.”

“Can you blame me?”

“What else could it mean?”

“Um, everything?”

“What if I told you that I just know, would you believe me?”

The man huffs, “No! I just met you!”

“But if you believe the prophecy, then you know what is coming!”

“My belief in the prophecy and what’s to come has nothing to do with believing you!”

Octavia moves her hand to the man’s mouth when she sees Clarke shuffle inside.

“Keep it down, would you? I know you’re a barbarian, but please do not wake my companion.”

“I am not a barbarian!” the man whisper-yells.

“Oh, that’s right. You are a god like me,” she sings.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

She steps back to give him a once-over through squinted eyes, the replies, “If you are a god, what is your domain?”

“You know, I’d really rather not say…”

“That is rather convenient.”

“So it is… but we’re kind of veering off topic, here.”

“Right.”

“So, what is this man’s name?”

“The man I seek?”

“Obviously? He’s the only man we’ve spoke of.”

“No need to be cheeky,” Octavia sighs, watching as the man roll his eyes. “Fine, the man’s name is Lincoln.”

“Lincoln,” the man echoes, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes…”

“Lincoln?” he says again, incredulous in his tone.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“I do not believe so?”

“Really?”

“I honestly do not know…” Octavia groans.

“Lincoln?”

“The dagger remains in my hand, you know. I could reach up and slit your throat, god or no god, without a moment’s pause.”

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

“Is that right?” Octavia asks, raising her blade to his throat once more.

“Yeah, I mean –”

“Because you’re so handsome and charming, is that it?”

“No –”

“Oh, it’s because you’re a god then?”

“Well, yes – but no –”

“Then what is it?”

“Because I am Lincoln.”

And that’s when Octavia gasps the third time.

_Ever._

*

“You’re fucking with me.”

“How are you using that already? You literally _just_ heard me say that.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“Well, enlighten me – how does the second half of the passage have anything to do with me?”

“Do you not know Latin?”

“No? You’re forgetting that while you are all up there lounging around or whatever it is that you do, we down here are protecting and serving humanity.”

“You serve humanity? Gross.”

“It’s our purpose! Like, in an encyclopedia it reads ‘Gods: created to protect and server humanity.’”

“Ew.”

“Would you please be mature?”

“Fine – Lincoln roughly translates to lakeside.”

Lincoln rolls his shoulders, drawing in a deep breath. So he’s a part of the prophecy…

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

He’s a part of this big, _stupid_ prophecy…

“No, really… fuck.”

“Between the two of us, I would wager I am more mature because I am more articulate.”

“You are so full of it.”

“Full of what?”

“Nothing! Just – fuck!” he yells.

“Hey! What did I say about keeping your voice down?”

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, leaning over to put his hands on his knees, drawing in a deep breath. “I just – I wasn’t expecting this.”

“If it is any consolation, I’ve been groomed for this my entire life and do not feel any more prepared.”

“Yeah, but – wait, who is your friend?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep. Any idea about the second?”

“You could say that.”

“What!? You already know who the second flame is!?” she says, looking at him expectantly. “I personally feel like that’s good news, but if it is then why do you sound so somber?”

“Because,” he sighs, “it’s my sister.”

“Oh... Fuck.”

“Yep. And the best part?” he adds, looking up at the brunette, “She doesn’t even know she’s a goddess.”

“Fuck!” she yells.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

* * *

 

He walks around the city aimlessly after leaving Octavia’s hotel room because there’s a lot to digest. It’s honestly all so crazy that if it weren’t for their charms, he would have thought it all a joke from the start. He doesn’t feel like a god; he’s not sure any of them do. Their family history seems more like a bedtime story than it does factual, and if he ever needed proof beyond their charms? Well, let’s just say that he got it tonight in a tight, tan, beautiful package.

He walks around until he eventually blinks and finds himself outside of Lexa’s apartment. The lights are still on, so he starts up the staircase. When he walks into her unit, he calls for her, but she doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” he mutters, walking to the window before he climbs out of it to join his sister on the roof.

“Surely you see enough of this at work…”

She smiles when she sees him and it warms his heart. He loves her so much, and fuck, is this all so unfair.

“Never,” she says, sliding over on her blanket to make room for him. “The stars are the most beautiful thing in the universe.”

“You say that now, but wait until you fall in love…”

“Always with this love stuff… and here I thought we settled it. I am already in love – happily and devastatingly so – it just so happens that it’s with the sky instead of some blonde bimbo.”

And he can’t help but laugh, because, well – the universe has a sick sense of humor.

“Speaking of which, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Uh-uh. Nope. You can forget it, Lincoln!”

“What?”

“I am not doing this blind date thing again.”

“I – that’s not what it is!”

“Is it a woman?”

“Yes…”

“Then absolutely not!”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because it’s a blind date!”

“It’s not!”

“Oh really,” Lexa says, crossing her arms and pursing her lips together. “Then what is it?”

“A favor!” he blurts out, releasing a long sigh. “Listen, I don’t personally know her, but she’s a friend of a friend, and she’s in town for the conference. Apparently, she’s having some trouble narrowing her field down and I mentioned that you’re kind of a know-it-all and my friend asked if you might be willing to speak with her, that’s all.”

“Which friend?”

“Hmm?”

“Which friend, Lincoln?

“Oh, you don’t know her.”

“I know all your friends!”

“Well, you don’t know this one. She’s new.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes searching his face, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Oh?”

“You like her, this new friend of yours.”

“What? Are you – that’s not even possible.”

“Oh my god, you really like her.”

“Shut up! She’s heinous!”

“Uh huh. I can see that you mean it from your hearts eyes.”

“I do not have heart eyes!”

“Wow, this is almost too good. I can’t wait to tell Anya,” she says through a chuckle, wiggling her eyebrows. “What was it that they used to call you in grade school, when you’d come in home, in love with a new girl every day? Oh god, what was it?”

“If I tell you will you just – shut up and meet this woman?”

“Hmm… I suppose I could do that.”

“Fine. It uh, it was… Lovepup.”

“Fucking precious.”

“You know, one of these days, and probably sooner than you think, you’re going to fall in love so hard. Like, right on your face! And then I’ll be the one giggling uncontrollably.

“You wouldn’t!” she gasps.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Well, if that cold day in hell ever comes, you have my full permission.”

“Oh, Lex. You better brace yourself, 'cause you're about to be in for a fucking treat.”


	2. Beyond Irritation?

And a day will come,

When, after many millennia,

The scales of nature and time will tip,

Away from the age of equilibrium

 

And in the time that follows

A darkness will set in

Manifesting itself

In both gods and man

And mountains will shift

And the Heavens will rock

And tyrants will rise

As the ground starts to rot

 

But there will be hope

And it will come as two

As it did once before

Though this time from two:

Two wombs,

Four roots

But each will blaze,

Instead of bloom

 

One from the Mother,

Who sows her seed with her hands

Into the heart of a warrior;

The protector of lands

 

One from the Father

Who plants his grain of sand

Into the belly of a griffin

The second in command

 

And when the heat of the sun

Reaches the Heavens

When the waves of the ocean

Nearly touch the moon

When the ram becomes red

And kicks his feet over his head

The warrior and griffin

Will fever, will swoon

 

And Twin flames

Born side by side

On the same day

At the same time

 

Drawn together

But always calling out

For one another

Like the sky and ground

 

But they will be parted

Because if they ignite before it’s time

Balance will never be returned

And darkness will supplant the light

 

When they are on the cusp,

They will glance upon each other

Before they come of age,

When the flames are forged for one another

 

And when they finally meet again,

The dynamite, the stoke

She will unite and join the flame,

Ignited, they’ll explode

 

And for balance,

For purpose,

For wisdoms lost

Along the way

Heed this message,

Ye twin flames

 

The eighth in the sky

With Arrows will guide

And a lasso to still

The lakeside of will

These are your guardians

Do not forget

Or balance will falter

And all will end

 

But even in the darkness,

All will be known to them,

When time moves slow again

Like it does when all begins

 

* * *

 

 

He exhales heavily into the morning chill as soon as he steps outside his door. His skin tingles from the breeze and it’s enough to make him shove his hands in his pockets and walk more speedily to his destination.

When he gets to Anya’s apartment, he stands for a moment on the _Welcome, Bitches_ rug outside her red door to catch his breath. He doesn’t really know what he’s going to say to Anya, and he’s willing to bet if anyone will be more surprised about his potential role in all this, it will be her.

He knocks three times before Anya is opening the door and pulling him into her apartment. They stand in silence for a moment and her eyebrows raise in confusion because it’s Saturday morning and possibly the earliest visit from Lincoln she’s ever received. This behavior from his is so obviously unexpected that it’s like he can see her scientific mind turning over on itself trying to figure out what terrible thing must have happened to have him out of bed so early on a weekend.

“What are you doing here, Lincoln?” she finally asks as he stifles a sigh and hangs his head.

“We are no longer alone on the ground,” he replies simply. It’s short and anticlimactic and unfitting for a statement so large. It’s a revelation that deserves more, but it’s all he can bring himself to say at the moment.

Anya nods her head and furrows her brow and it’s clear she expects more, that she won’t speak until she has all the information.

“They came a few days ago, and I saw them outside of the convention yesterday. I honestly don’t know how you missed them,” he digresses, even though he does know why she missed them – she’s got a thing for avoiding needy, flirty brunette scientists. “I went to them late last night. One was sleeping, the other I spoke with. I threatened her to go back…”

And he fully intends on continuing, but Anya starts to pace under the weight of his words, and it’s unlike her, but she cuts him off.

“To Arkadia? They’re from Arkadia?” Anya spits in disbelief, and he should have known that she would respond this way. Anya has spent her life trying to explain the inexplicable, and like Lincoln, there are parts of her that have always rejected the notion that they are gods. Now that there are visitors from the Sky, every logical explanation regarding their existence could, and most likely will, start to unravel. And that’s not even the worst of it.

“The Goddess of War,” he nods, and her brow furrows. She is thinking so loudly and her body is tense with concern. The arrival of the Goddess of War is anything but comforting, so Lincoln moves to her and wraps his arms around her small frame, squeezing tightly to encourage her to let herself be vulnerable, because as the Goddess of Will, she never lets herself fall apart. To be honest, she hasn’t had many reasons to. But this is different, because even without all the details and context, she can still sense that everything is about to change.

“She isn’t as violent as I anticipated she’d be,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood, his chin resting on her head, and Anya scoffs as she pulls back to look up at him.

“You know, that’s not totally comforting,” she says through a humorless laugh. “Why are they here, Lincoln? Who is the other one?”

“You’re not going to like it,” he breathes, and when she stares at him expectantly, he bites his lip while he works up the courage to tell her that the other one is the woman that will be his little sister’s undoing.

“An – it’s _her_ ,” he says, and when Anya’s mouth falls open and tears pool at her eyes, he knows she probably thinks that’s it, that’s all of it, but it isn’t and he can’t hold back any longer because the truth is burning him deeply and it’s too much. “War told me I have a part to play in this, too,” he mutters, now realizing that his cousin isn’t alone in her sobbing. “She and I, we’re supposed to bring them together, but how can I do that, An? How can I do that to her when I love her so much?”

And then it’s Anya’s arms that are thrown around her bulky cousin, holding him and shushing him as he comes to terms with the fact that he will have a hand in the destruction of his sister.

“We will figure it out, Linc. I promise,” she coos, but even a promise from the Goddess of Will doesn’t seem likely to be kept when an ancient prophecy has its hands around his neck.

 

* * *

 

 

When her eyes flutter open, she’s greeted with a smiling Octavia.

“I met someone,” her friend says nonchalantly.

“What?” Clarke asks, confusedly, because _what_?

“A man.”

“When?”

“That is of no relevance,” Octavia says. “But he is going to be at the convention today, and so will his sister, and you should talk to her.”

Clarke squints her eyes at Octavia because it kind of seems like the goddess is up to something; yet, they’re on Earth and thus, on their best behavior. What could Octavia be up to here? Surely, she wouldn’t set Clarke up when they’re supposed to be flying under the radar.

“Why would I talk to her, O?” she asks curiously and Octavia scoffs.

“So, you are uninterested in speaking to a highly intelligent, impassioned human, then?” And then it’s Clarke who scoffs.

“I didn’t say that,” she spits quickly before Octavia’s offer is redacted.

“Then clothe yourself, Venus, because we’ve got a convention to crash!”

 

* * *

 

 

 

There are several things to be aware of, here.

First, she’s at the convention. As an almost-human and a scientist, this is a very exciting time to be amongst colleagues and other professionals that she greatly admires. She is a keynote speaker. She has been working to have the attention of her peers for her entire career and now that she has it?

Lexa needs her. Her brilliant little cousin needs her in all the ways she is unprepared for. Lexa too is a scientist, and explaining all of this to her – their heritage – is going to be terrible. It’s going to go terribly! Her cousin has rooted herself in logic and reason since – well, for years – and statistically speaking, there’s a hail Mary’s chance in hell of her handling this. All of this, it’s just terrible timing.

On top of it being one of the most important days of her career, and one of the most important days of Lexa’s life, Lincoln is on edge because of his supposed role in what they can only assume will be the undoing of Lexa. The prophesy seems to hint that after the sparks are ignited, they go boom. That’s it. Whoever wrote these prophecies is a real piece of work, and if Anya could, she’d destroy all the prophecies so that no one else would have to read them or worse, decide to believe in them.

If she’s honest, she doesn’t know if she believes in them, but she hopes they are untrue. Especially the one about Lexa.

Oh, and let’s not forget about Lexa’s betrothed and War. Because FUCK, Arkadians are on Earth and as uneasy as their presence makes her, their existence is far more unsettling.

And Raven Reyes is here.

And she must deal with all of this. Right fucking now.

“So, Lexa and your new friends are going to meet us here?”

Lincoln has been looking around the space since they arrived, anxiously rocking on his heels.

“And what exactly is the plan? Lexa meets this woman and just falls in love with her, then what? They die here? Because if so, I am going to be pissed at you for multiple reasons.”

“Anya,” Lincoln says through heavy eyelids, “We have no way of knowing what’s going to happen, or if the prophecy is at all true.”

“But you have to admit that the way the prophecy phrases things…”

“Yes, I know how it sounds,” he admits. “But enough about that, here’s our girl.”

Anya looks from Lincoln, following his gaze to find an approaching Lexa.

“Dressed to impress,” Lincoln remarks when Lexa is in earshot. The green-eyed goddess is wearing a tailored, skinny-legged gray suit with a patterned green shirt and green patent pumps.

“You would be too if your cousin was the keynote speaker at one of the most prestigious scientific conventions in the country. Oh, wait…” Lexa comments, and Anya can’t help but smile.

“I’m wearing a sports coat. Does that not count for anything? Plus, I thought maybe you got so dressed up to impress your date.”

“Relax, big brother, I’m just teasing. And I’m not even going to give you the satisfaction of replying to your attempt at teasing me, so there. Now, how’s our big, smarty-pants cousin?”

“She’s bored,” Anya says about herself, though it is not even remotely true. There are too many things to think about dealing with right now.

“What a cruel existence,” Lexa says, smirking, and when Anya and Lincoln both bite their tongues and look away, Anya can see Lexa’s brow furrow in confusion out of the corner of her eye.

She really has no idea about what’s to come. None of them do, really. Bringing the rest of the family in on this is also going to suck, tremendously so.

“Oh, there they are,” Lincoln says, and Anya snaps her head around to follow Lincoln’s gaze again. This time her starts walking towards the approaching party, and she follows, with a reluctant Lexa doing the same.

  
“You made it,” Lincoln says to the two women approaching.

One of them, who seems to be the one Lincoln is addressing, is dressed in a leather jacket and skinny jeans and motorcycle boots. She is a brunette and she’s stunning, but she’s clearly the Goddess of War, obvious because of her serious demeanor, not to mention how lean and tone she is. She is the personification of combat.

“Yes,” War says plainly.

In the silence that follows, Anya eyes the second half of the flame, and if she’s being honest? The woman is one of humanities’ perfect visions of a goddess. Her blonde hair is wild and wavy and her blue eyes are piecing. She is curvy, her hourglass figure is plump where it should be and tone elsewhere. Her lips are big, her eyelashes are long… she’s… beautiful.

A beautiful undoing for Lexa.

Anya closes her eyes for a moment, then looks to Lexa to see her response.

Oh. Yeah, she definitely sees _it_.

Lexa, the always cool, always collected, brilliant and brooding bae, is twiddling her fingers and averting her eyes like a shy seventh grader, which is approximately the last time she saw this behavior from Lexa.

“So, are you going to introduce us, Lincoln?” Anya says to break the awkward silence.

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Octavia, this is my cousin Anya, and sister Lexa, and guys, this is Octavia.” As handshakes are exchanged, Lincoln moves closer the blonde to introduce himself. “Hey, I’m Lincoln.”

“Right! I’m Clarke!” the blonde beams, then instead of shaking hands, she envelops the large man in her arms and squeezes. “It’s so nice to meet you! Octavia has told me so much about you,” she says and Lincoln feels his eyes go wide. When she releases him a moment later, Octavia is right behind him, making eye contact to silently say, _no, not that_ , Anya assumes.

Clarke moves towards Anya and Anya reaches her hand out well ahead of time so that the blonde doesn’t get any big ideas about unwanted hugs.

“Clarke,” the blonde says, reaching out to take Anya’s offer. She gives it a gentle shake, then raises her eyebrows, “Anya, right?” And Anya nods, because apparently, she forgot to do her part.

“Right, sorry,” Anya says, smiling sheepishly.

“You’ll have to forgive our cousin, Clarke. She has a big day ahead of her.”

“Is that so?” Clarke asks.

“I do. Which, I should probably get moving. But before I do, this is Lexa,” Anya says, to take the attention of herself.

When Clarke nods, then looks toward Lexa, the tension amongst her, Lincoln, and Octavia is utterly ridiculous. They’re all still, holding their breath, eyes wide, unblinking, and watching carefully to see what happens when the two flames interact for the first time.

They walk towards one another.

Their hands start to reach.

Almost there.

And…

Their hands touch. Their eyes meet.

And!

“Hey, I’m Clarke,” the blonde says, smiling the same smile she’s _been_ smiling.

“Lexa,” the brunette says, stoically.

And… it’s all totally unremarkable. No sparks, no fireworks, no flames.

So, there are several things to be aware of, moving forward.

Sure, it’s a big day, amongst her colleagues, keynote speaker, yadda, yadda, and Raven Reyes will definitely show up and make a pass at Anya, per usual, but the good news? Lexa didn’t go boom, so maybe everything else is up for debate.

Anya exhales, breathing a little bit easier.

“Right, well, we’re all acquainted now, so If you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got work to do,” she says before turning and walking away without so much as a look back.

 

* * *

 

 

“I do. Which, I should probably get moving. But before I do, this is Lexa,” Anya says.

Lincoln blinks, looking to Clarke, then to Lexa, then back to Clarke. He watches them in anticipation, stilled while short fingernails dig into his sweaty palms making faint indentions.

They walk towards one another.

Clarke is smiling, eyes cast in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa is looking at Anya before her gaze turns towards Clarke.

They are not yet making eye contact, but…

Their hands start to reach.

Almost there.

And…

Their hands touch. Their eyes meet.

And!

Everything slips into slow motion.

“Holy fuck,” Octavia says, reaching out to grab his arm, and he looks to her in shock, because apparently he’s not the only one experiencing whatever this is.

“No way –” he replies, opening and closing his eyes.

“So, you see it too, then? We’re moving at hyper speed…”

“No,” Lincoln breathes, “No, I think we’re moving normally, but everyone else has slowed down.”

“What? Why us?” Octavia asks. “Why not them?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“What does the prophecy say, when they meet?”

“I don’t… I can’t remember,” Lincoln says, rubbing his pounding head.

“You’re useless!” Octavia scoffs, and Lincoln grins.

“As useless as you are…”

“Hey, I’m Clarke,” Lincoln hears, his head snapping toward the blonde as quickly Octavia’s does.

“Lexa,” his brunette cousin says.

“OK… slow-mo donezo then,” he mutters under his breath, glancing around to everyone else. There’s a smile playing on Anya’s lips, and he wonders why she looks so happy.

“Right, well, we’re all acquainted now, so If you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got work to do,” she says, already turning on her heel before the words have left her mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

 

They decide to get coffee, which is casual enough that it doesn’t feel like a date. The only problem is that it still feels like a setup with Lincoln and Octavia sitting at their own table and gnawing their fingernails while they watch them. It’s as if she’s back in the seventh grade, and her chaperones are just as obnoxious and unnecessary as they were back then.

“So, what is it that you do, Lexa?” the blonde woman asks, smiling a bright, beautiful smile, and Lexa wants to roll her eyes, because this might actually be a date and she’s going to kill Lincoln.

“I’m an astrophysicist, but the subfields hold my interest as well. Cosmology is infinitely interesting to me,” Lexa says, casting another look towards Lincoln and Octavia before returning her gaze to the blonde.

“That’s, wow. Octavia was right, you’re quite the intelligent human,” Clarke says, voice smooth and dreamy.

“Human? Me?” Lexa says monotoned, sporting a slight smirk. She was called Robot as a kid because kids are cruel, and it bothered her at first. When she embraced it, they no longer held power over her. When Clarke gasps, Lexa’s robot falters. Clarke looks alarmed and it doesn’t sit well with Lexa.

“Clarke, are you okay?” Lexa asks, brow furrowed in concern.

“Are you not?” Clarke replies, curiously, and Lexa is confused.

“Am I not what?” she asks, then remembers. “Wait, am I not human?”

Clarke nods, briefly glancing towards Lincoln and Octavia.

There’s a smiling pulling at her lips. She can feel it’s need to stretch but she isn’t sure if she’ll allow it because she can’t quite put her finger on Clarke yet. Like, right now – Clarke seems like she’s seriously asking if Lexa is human, but she can’t be right? This woman is a scientist herself and there isn’t any evidence that other humanoid species exist. Or what if she’s such a scientist that she just believes that, statistically, there’s got to be another intelligent species out there, somewhere. Or maybe she’s nuts. Lexa has no idea which it is, but either way, she decides to play along.

“What would you say if I tell you I’m not?” Lexa asks as she leans in, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“I would ask tons of questions!” Clarke exclaims, also leaning in to share in the secrecy.

“Like what?” Lexa asks, and Clarke beams.

“Like, how did you come to the ground? Have you ever been to City of Light? What is your domain and emblem? Do you have any abilities here? Do you know who I am? Honestly, I have so many questions that I would not know where to start.”

The rushed, excited, reply is more than Lexa was expecting, probably evident by her questioning head tilt.

“Now I’m confused,” Lexa says plainly. “You’re messing with me, right?”

Clarke stares back at her just as plainly, but with parted lips. “Are you human or are you not?” she asks.

“I am?” Lexa breathes.

“Then why would you tell me that you are not?” Clarke asks, and she looks upset.

“I thought we were joking?” Lexa replies, feeling the start of a scowl that she forces into her cup of coffee.

“You were joking about being a goddess? Really? I can assure you that the divine to not take kindly to blasphemy in their names.”

“Are you joking? Please tell me you are,” Lexa sighs, closing her eyes and burying her face in her hand.

“Why would I be joking?” Clarke scoffs as she crosses her arms.

“Because there is no scientific proof that a god – or gods – exist, and aren’t you supposed to be a scientist? Isn’t that the whole reason we’re here right now?”

“We’re here because Octavia promised me compelling conversation, which I suppose it is, but you seem to be a little out of your bounds.”

Lexa is mid-scowl-sip when Clarke accuses her – _her_ – of being out of her bounds, and so a bit of coffee gets gracefully spit back into her cup.

“I’m out of my bounds? _Me_? Because I don’t readily believe adult fairy stories that have no scientific backing? You’ve got to be kidding! If anyone is out of their bounds, it’s blind followers of obscure, touchy higher powers.”

“Touchy? I’ll give you touchy!” Clarke yells, and just as Lexa is about to give the woman a piece of her mind, Lincoln’s hands are on her and she deflates. She looks around, and finds that Octavia is with Clarke, who, like Lexa, is suddenly standing. When this happened, Lexa has no idea, but she supposes she must have felt compelled to move around given the stuffy _conversation_.

“Lexa, eyes on me,” she hears Lincoln demand, and she obliges. “Alright, that’s good. How are you doing? Are you okay?”

Lexa takes a step back from _whatever_ it was that just happened. She closes her eyes and regulates her breathing. She does not often lose control, and never in public, which makes this all the more confusing. She opens her eyes once the haze has cleared and squeezes Lincoln’s arm. Her brother is concerned, per usual. He’s a great brother and a great friend but can be a tad overly protective.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” he breathes. “Now you can tell me what the hell all of that was about.”

“We had a disagreement,” she says, simply.

“Yeah, I can see that, and so can everyone else. Mind telling me what your disagreement was about?”

“She’s a bit pious, frankly; a real zealot…”

“Lexa?” he says, because he probably needs more than that.

“She thought I was a goddess or something? She’s really strange, Lincoln. I have no idea how the woman is a scientist with her holier-than-thou dogma fetish,” she explains.

“Lex, you can’t just –” he pauses, looking over his shoulder towards the other two women before looking back to Lexa. “You can’t just shut someone else’s beliefs down like that.”

“Uh? Yes, I can. And I will, especially if it’s morally or scientifically wrong.”

“Yeah? And who’s the pious one now?” he says, and she no longer feels obligated to humor him, so she takes a few more steps back to distance herself.

“Whatever, Lincoln. Oh, and thank you, by the way, for a great non-date date. You really have a knack for romantic setups, you know that? This deserves a Shakespearean ending,” she mutters, slowly turning toward the exit, but Lincoln catches her by her arm before she makes her escape.

“First off, Lex, that’s really dark. Like, I knew you were jaded, but wow. Second of all, so you hate this girl because you think she’s religious?”

“She is religious!” she whisper-yells.

“And you say that because she thinks you’re a goddess? Because if that’s the case, you’re even more jaded than I thought.”

“Linc, I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Lovepup. I know what you’re doing and it won’t work. I’m not interested, okay?”

“Hey, be quiet. That nickname stays in the family or else your face. Got it?” he warns. “So, I’m wrong about there being sparks between you two, then?”

“No, there are plenty of sparks. You’re right about that. But, you know, typically people are referring to fireworks and not the kind that start housefires and forest fires and spontaneous combustion.”

“Well, of course not, because that wouldn’t be spontaneous, would it? Listen, will you just do me a favor and try again, please?”

“What? No! You lied to me about getting me to speak to her in the first place, so why would I do you any more favors?”

“Well, okay… I did lie. But not for the reason you think I did….”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I will tell you why soon, but please try again. This is really, really important, and in ways you don’t know yet.”

“Linc?”

“Yes, beautiful, wonderful, super intelligent sister?”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, and with that he gives a nod to Octavia and they retreat back to their table.

“Everything is okay!” Octavia yells to the onlookers, and Lexa rolls her eyes, visibly and dramatically this time around.

She looks across the small table to Clarke, and the blonde blinks, then clears her throat.

“Uh, it seems that I may have gotten carried away,” Clarke says, not chancing eye contact. “I am not American, so I am not entirely familiar with social etiquette or your customs. I have been informed that my behavior was inappropriate, and for that, I am sorry.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to apologize?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry?” she says with a shrug, and when Clarke exhales heavily, Lexa can barely contain her smirk. Another point for science.

“Whatever,” she hears the blonde mutter under her breath.

“So, you’re here for the science convention then I take it?”

“For many reasons, one being the science convention. Sort of.”

“Is this your first time in the States?”

“Yeah, it is. It’s much different than when I saw it as a child. In pictures, that is.”

“Pictures only tell part of the story…”

“Right. It had a different feeling then, when I looked down. At the picture. There was a picture of this girl I used to look at often, but here I am and the girl is nowhere to be found.”

“It’s a big country…”

“But a small world, apparently.”

“Touché.”

“So, you look up to the sky and theorize about how it all began?”

“Among other things.”

“And what do you think?”

“I’m a believer of the big bang.”

“Space and time came together, then?”

“Naturally. And what do you think?”

“Honestly?” Clarke asks, eyebrows raising curiously. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Uh, okay. But you’re a scientist?”

“I am not a scientist in the same manner as you. I like to observe. I watch people mostly, who inhabit Earth.”

“So, you’re more of a sociologist?”

“I see use in labels, but I do not like to use them.”

“Uh…” Lexa sputters, confusedly.

“It used to bother me, not having one,” Clarke says, looking down at her hands. “My people, we have labels – they’re titles, sort of. Once someone comes of age, they receive their title. When I came of age, I was marked, but I did not receive a title. For years, it used to eat at me. Who am I without a title? How come I’m the only one? But then, I realized that sometimes labels box people into one identity. Now, I think I have more freedom without a title than with one.”

Okay, so maybe Clarke is more than a zealot, Lexa thinks, pursing her lips together contemplatively.

“But not having a title – don’t you ever feel too free? Sometimes I get so caught up in everything that it all feels so big and out of my control, like the small things I can control don’t matter. Ironically enough, the only thing that makes me feel better is going outside and looking up to the stars.”

“Because the universe is so big. And it’s a fact, staring back at you. And you find comfort in that truth?”

“It’s not all in my head…” Lexa says into her coffee cup, and when she looks at Clarke to check the blonde’s reaction, she’s met with warm, shimmering blues.

Neither of them say anything, but knowing looks are exchanged and Lexa smirks.

They’d both rather end this on a good note.

 

* * *

 

 

 

She’s walking back to the hotel with Octavia. Coffee was fine: Octavia’s human boyfriend Lincoln seems sweet and Clarke celebrates not smiting his sister. Giving her another chance was the right thing to do, accordingly to Octavia, and she’s glad she listened because it paid off.

The woman’s not all stoicism and self-righteousness. _Thank goddess_.

“So,” Octavia says, “What do you think?”

“I think… the sky is beautiful at this time of day,” she replies, admiring the white puffy clouds in contrast against the bright blue hues of the sky.

Octavia nods in admiration and agreement, “Yes, but what did you think of the woman?”

“To which woman are you referring?”

“Clarke,” Octavia warns.

“She was as impassioned as you said she would be.”

“Did you feel anything?”

“Beyond irritation?” Clarke asks and Octavia nods again. “Happiness, when she had to leave.”

“Oh, c’mon, I know it was rough at first, but at the end?”

“Octavia,” Clarke stops walking and her friend takes her cue. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t?” Octavia says, unconvinced.

“That’s right. It doesn’t. She’s human. I am a goddess. You can have your fling, but I will not have one too.”

“She isn’t as fragile as you think.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Clarke, you haven’t –” Octavia spits, and Clarke tenses because she knows where her friend is going with this.

“Careful, O,” she cautions.

“No, I’m not going to walk on eggshells. You haven’t allowed anyone into your bed for a year, and I am not saying that is full-on insanity, but it is. So yeah, I am saying that – that’s what I’m saying.”

“I haven’t had the desire, so why bother?”

“That’s kind of the point, dear. You’re in denial.”

“Of?”

“Your desire! I saw it. It’s returned full force.”

“Oh, please, O. What you saw was not desire, but extreme annoyance.”

“And attraction.”

“No.”

“Clarke, she looks like a goddess…”

“But is too dense to be one,” Clarke bites, and it’s ugly. She immediately kicks herself for putting a human down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Octavia hums, then grins smugly. “I know you didn’t, because like this girl.”

“Objectively, she is nice to look at, but I will not pretend to want to bed her for your comfort,” Clarke says before turning to walk away.

“Like you’d have to pretend,” Clarke hears the brunette shout from behind her.

And honestly? If Clarke’s being real with herself?

She had a nice moment with a nice-looking human, after not-a-nice moment with the same nice-looking human.

So what? _Whoop-de-fucking-doo._

It’s not like they’re soulmates.

No, Clarke already has a soulmate.

And she wears her hair in braids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry if I haven't responded to your comments. I will try to get to that tomorrow.
> 
> Please forgive my mistakes. Sometimes I a word or make grammatical mistakes that haunt my dreams, but I gotta let it go, ya know?
> 
> Anyway, I am not going to divulge domains/emblems yet but once one is known, I'll make note of it. Thelonious is similar to Zeus, and Octavia is similar to Ares/Athena, but they're not entirely the same and I feel no need to have all of them mirror Greek or Roman gods. As a side note, I do think the author of the 100 based most of her characters off Greek and/or Roman gods.
> 
> Thelonious: God of the Sky, the eagle  
> Octavia: Goddess of War, the arrow (a spear in Greek mythology, I think)  
> Anya: Goddess of Will, the shield
> 
> PS. Writing obscure/not-really-obscure prophecies kind of stinks.


	3. Only in Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Costia deserves to be the hero of someone's story.

It’s just about time, and she’s going over her notecards one last time when she hears a small boom from one of the pop-up labs the hotel staff have set up for their convention guests. Any other person would probably rush to the boom to make sure whoever was in or near the lab is okay, but not Anya. She is all too familiar with the small booms and knows perfectly well to whom they belong, so she slides her notecards in her inside blazer pocket, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then gets up to turn the corner at a leisurely pace.

And the serial offender? Raven Reyes. Per usual.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” Raven says through a cloud of powder that covers her from head to toe, the space around her eyes is the only place untouched, thanks to the goggles now perched upon her head.

“Reyes,” Anya says, unimpressed. “What was it this time?”

“The little boom you heard?” Raven asks through an unfaltering smile. “It was nothing…”

“Another fifth-grade chemistry experiment gone wrong I take it?”

“A bit more sophisticated that fifth-grade, but…” Raven says, “Oh, who am I kidding. A fifth grader could pull it off, yeah.”

Anya regards the brunette for a moment, eyeing her through the haze of her failed experiment. Sometimes – very, very rarely – the light falls on Raven’s face at just the right angle and her hazel irises sparkle with warmth rather than mischief and Anya thinks, if only for a moment, that Raven is incredibly beautiful.

And then she opens her mouth.

“So, want to _experiment_ with me?”

“No. And that’s not appropriate. I’m your colleague.”

“What? How is that inappropriate? I’m just saying we could _work_ together,” Raven says, bright smile still plastered on her face.

“The only energy I’ll be expending will be from when I walk away from you.”

“Never a fan of our chemistry… but I thought getting physical was still up for discussion.”

“It was never up for discussion, Reyes.”

“But we’re both physicists…”

“And?”

“And I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me…”

“Ugh! Please stop.”

“I’m hot, you make me hotter…”

“Reyes, neither gravity nor thermodynamics have anything to do with us, as in you and me as an entity.”

“We could bond…”

“And back to chemistry…” Anya says, rolling her eyes. “You do realize I have a speech to prepare for, right?”

“And yet, you’re here with me,” Raven says through a smug grin, and Anya huffs.

And ugh! Sometimes, just ugh! Raven actually thinks she’s going to wear her down one day, and Anya doesn’t know how else to tell her it’s never going to happen. Because it won’t. Like ever.

“Well, don’t let me keep you. Just – before you go – I have something for you,” Raven says, wafting her hands to thin the air surrounding her. Anya watches Raven as she reaches into a small enclosure and pulls a tray of something out and inspects it.

“Are you going to give me a limb from your Frankenstein?” Anya asks, curiously.

“Something like that,” she mutters, then starts to walk towards Anya with what Anya assumes to be something gross sitting in her hands. “Lucky for us, the one that turned out the best is the one with the North star. The second batch did not go so well, as you know.”

When Raven steps closer, Anya can finally make out what the object is: it’s a cupcake with black and dark blue icing and multicolored sprinkles arranged like the stars that make up Ursa Major and nearby stars, including Polaris.

“You made this for me?” Anya asks. The gesture is so kind and it’s unexpected. Why would Raven do something like this for her?

“I thought that maybe you could use a little luck…” Raven says softly as she stares at her feet kicking across the ground. It is the shyest Anya has ever seen Raven and she’s not sure what to make of this new behavior. “It’s a big day for you and your career.”

“Oh, well, that it is… Thank you, R-Raven,” Anya mutters, confusedly, and then Raven looks up to her and nods, her big smile only growing larger by the minute.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it… I should find some cleaning supplies anyway,” Raven says, walking awkwardly around Anya towards the door to the pop-up lab. Anya stares off into space for a moment, not realizing that Raven is still lingering in the door.

“Anya,” she says, and Anya snaps out of it and lifts her head to meet Raven’s gaze. “You’re going to great,” she breathes, smiling once more as she leaves the keynote to her thoughts.

And suddenly, Anya thinks she feels sick. Why else would her stomach feel like it’s doing somersaults?

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anya’s speech is insightful, informed, and moving. Her audience is so captivated the entire time, just by her body language, that Lincoln thinks his cousin could get up on stage and speak gibberish and it would still end the same: with a happy, enlightened audience, who will remember Anya’s name.

“An, that was incredible! Who knew you’d be so good at public speaking?” Lexa says, smiling at Anya as she approaches her cousins post-speech and obligatory Q & A.

Lincoln watches the two embrace when Anya gets close enough, then she speaks into Lexa’s shoulder. “I didn’t. God, I’m so happy it’s over,” she says as she releases Lexa and moves to embrace Lincoln.

“Still not a people person then,” he asks, and she smiles as he squeezes her tightly.

“Still not,” she confirms.

“No?” Lexa asks, raising her eyebrows mischievously, “Maybe more like a person-person then.” And Lincoln knows what she’s doing, because he saw it too, those sneaky glances cast in the direction of a certain smiley, brunette astrophysicist, who has a major thing for their cousin.

“Yeah, seems like you liked at least one person in the audience,” Lincoln teases.

“What?” Anya says, and there’s a slight smirk on her face, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you didn’t notice the brainy vixen that you kept starting at?” Lexa asks, and Lincoln laughs.

“Wow, if you didn’t see her, An, you should probably get your eyes checked. I mean, you were looking right at her, like the _entire_ time.”

“No, I… I wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. There was a thing – a um, a focal point I used to keep me grounded, that’s all.”

“And her name is Raven Reyes, is it not?” Lexa asks smugly.

“No! Shut up! I was looking at,” Anya pauses to look around. “A painting. That painting,” she says, pointing to an uninteresting landscape painting.

“Okay,” Lexa and Lincoln say in unison.

“I was…”

“Sure, you were,” Lexa says.

“Whatever you say,” Lincoln adds.

“Guys, I wasn’t looking at Raven!” Anya raises her voice.

“Raven, huh?” Lincoln asks, and then Anya is storming out before calling out over her shoulder.

“Are we getting dinner or not?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lexa and Lincoln treat Anya to dinner at Bourbon Steak, the restaurant inside the Four Seasons. When all is devoured and done, they finish their night with a glass of port wine that Lincoln takes down in one sip.

Lexa is the first to peel off from the group, citing some half-assed reason for doing so that both Lincoln and Anya know is a lie, but they have much to discuss anyway, so they let it slide.

“How did it go today?” Anya asks once Lexa has left the restaurant.

“Well…” Lincoln starts, “I’m guessing you didn’t notice when you slipped into slow motion earlier?”

“What?”

“When Lexa and Clarke met eyes, or touched, or both… everything slowed down except for Octavia and I.”

“No way,” Anya comments, bug-eyed.

“Yes way, and that’s not even the weirdest thing that happened,” he says. “They really don’t like each other…”

Anya smiles rather largely, and asks, “They don’t like each other?” She is clearly amused.

“Anya, they got into a really heated argument over coffee. Lexa was nearly refused to ever speak to Clarke again,” Lincoln says, and Anya laughs so hard her whole body shakes.

“Well, at least their flammable,” she comments once her chuckling subsides, and Lincoln winces.

“Hey, this is no laughing matter!” he warns, and Anya checks herself for having too much fun.

“Linc, maybe this isn’t what you think? Maybe they’re not supposed to fall in love or restore balance or whatever.”

“No, Anya, the more I think about it – and I know how this sounds, mind you – the more I think about it the more I _know_ that all of it is true,” he says, bringing his hand up to his head to cradle his face. “Between coffee and your speech, I went to visit Nyko, and I made some excuse for wanting to see the text of the prophecy, and it just solidified everything even more. I think the universe signaled to Octavia and I that Clarke and Lexa are destined to ignite – that we’re supposed to protect them from darkness until it all happens…”

Anya purses her lips and releases a sigh before she replies, contemplatively and breathy, “Say I believe you – not the prophecy, because I don’t know if I believe that, but I trust you, always – what’s really at stake, besides the ambiguous promise of darkness?”

“Well,” Lincoln starts without really having considered that, “Does it matter? I mean, the prophecy kind of says it’s bad, and I don’t really need details to know that I don’t like _bad_.”

“But doesn’t this all feel a bit… silly… to you?”

“Yes, of course it does! But at the same time, it doesn’t. I don’t know; I just don’t want to waste time making this about me when it’s about all of us, and most importantly, it’s about Lexa, and her sacrifice,” he says with a raised voice, and Anya visibly softens.

“When do we tell her? When do we tell the family?” she asks, and Lincoln shakes his head because he honestly doesn’t know.

“Octavia and I need to get them on good terms, I think,” he muses, “Then we can tell her and Gustus, and we can worry about who comes first then.”

“Your dad is going to be excited…” Anya comments, and Lincoln sighs because he knows she’s right. Their fathers, Gustus and Nyko have followed the prophecies closely and are true believers. That is why Lexa does not know about her heritage. Nearly everyone who knows has made huge sacrifices to protect Lexa from her fate, no matter if the prophecy is true or false. There were once rumors of a collective made up of gods and humans whose sole purpose was to extinguish the flames, but there was never any solid proof of their existence. Either way, though, Lexa was always going to be a target, so they’ve kept her hidden as a precaution, but it saddens Lincoln, and Anya, to know so much about Lexa when Lexa knows so little about herself; for instance, Gustus is not Lexa’s father, and she has no idea. And Gustus’ excitement about this prophecy is what makes Lincoln resent his father the most.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat of thoughtful silence.

“So, about this slow-motion thing,” Anya says, taking Lincoln’s concise agreement as a cue to change the subject. “Can you, like, tell me more? For science?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lexa doesn’t talk about her, not really.

Costia has heard bits and pieces that Lexa has grudgingly offered up over the years, but she doesn’t really know the guts of it. Costia doesn’t know that Lexa imagined it all, or the issues she has resolving the fantasy as it is. She doesn’t know that after years of therapy, Lexa still struggles to let it all go.

All Costia knows is that Lexa has been heartbroken since they were teenagers, brooding for some mysterious girl Lexa can’t mention – won’t mention – to anyone but her therapist.

But Costia doesn’t need to know the details. What they have together is independent of Lexa’s instability and shortcomings, and her pull to another life wherein her angel is as real as the mark she left with Lexa.

No, what she has with Costia doesn’t need to be complicated by other circumstances and Costia understands that to a degree, she does. And Lexa loves her for it, just not in the way Costia wants her to, and Lexa wishes she could – really, she does – because Costia is good, and beautiful, and patient, and kind, and she deserves to be the center of someone’s universe.

But Lexa will never fall in love. And Costia knows this.

Because Lexa can’t give herself away when she already did, so many years ago. She resigned herself to the girl at first sight, without a word. She lay there dying, silently promising to find her light in the afterlife. She’d look for an eternity if she had to.

And she may have to, especially because she probably dreamed her up.

No – she _did_ dream her up. Yes, her therapist would want her to correct herself. She needs to make progress, and she tries, but sometimes it still feels too real, and it gets the better of her.

Sometimes she doesn’t correct herself, but she’s getting too old to make excuses for herself now and she needs to make a better effort to move on.

But still, Lexa will never fall in love, regardless of whether she dreamed the girl up. She still made a promise, right? Even if it was only to herself.

She’s sitting on the end of Costia’s bed, half-naked and dazed when Costia’s hands find her bare back and lightly travel top to bottom, making Lexa shiver, pulling her from her thoughts. When Costia wraps her arms around Lexa’s middle, Lexa leans back into the touch, sighing contently.

“How long have you been awake, staring off into space?” Costia asks.

“Not long,” Lexa replies, squeezing the arms that envelop her, as Costia inches closer and places sweet pecks on Lexa’s shoulders. Costia is silent for a moment and Lexa can sense her tension. They’ve been sleeping together on and off for thirteen years, so there isn’t much Lexa can’t sense about Costia. A pang of guilt sounds in her chest when she realizes how one-sided their relationship is, distracting her from Costia’s demeanor.

“Lex,” Costia says softly into Lexa’s shoulder. “Don’t you think you should go see Indra again?”

Lexa looks over her shoulder to meet Costia’s pleading green eyes and she sighs.

“I went to therapy last month,” she says.

“Yeah, but,” Costia pauses to flatten her cheek against the space between Lexa’s shoulder blades, “You seem like you could use someone to talk to. You’ve been thinking about her a lot more lately.”

Lexa’s heart swells at the comment, because maybe their relationship isn’t as one-sided as she thought, but then again…

“Cos,” Lexa breathes, “Why haven’t you kicked me to the curb yet?”

“I could never do that,” Costia says evenly.

“Yeah, but you should. You want a family one day…”

“One day, yes… not tomorrow.”

“But what if your person is out there, waiting for you? What if your person gets scooped up by someone else?”

“Then they aren’t my person, silly,” Costia smiles into Lexa’s back, and Lexa finds herself pulling away so that she can turn and face Costia.

“I’m not your person,” Lexa says.

“So?” Costia asks, confused.

“So, why are you wasting your time with me, knowing that he or she is out there?”

“Lexa,” Costia coos, reaching out to pull the distressed brunette into her chest. “I know I’m not your person, and that you’re not my person, but I still love you. I always will. Love is not easy to walk away from, and if anyone understands that…”

“I do, I get it. I just want to make sure that the reason I’m not your person isn’t because you’re not my person; I’m just not your person, right?”

“Lex, I think you’re overthinking this,” she chuckles and Lexa feels some of the tension leaving her bones. “We love each other even though we have soulmates roaming around looking for us, it’s as simple as that.”

“What if we never find them though?”

“Then you’ll be enough for me. You always have been,” Costia admits, and Lexa frowns.

 “You deserve more than me,” Lexa drones, and Costia is quick to tighten her grasp on the brunette.

“No one deserves more than you, Lexa,” Costia says, kissing the top of Lexa’s head. “But all of this is of no consequence anyway, so we have nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa asks, looking up at her lover.

“You’re going to find that girl, one of these days,” she says simply, and Lexa feels dampness pooling at her tear ducts. Costia is too good.

“Cos,” Lexa says, hesitantly, and Costia nods.

“Okay,” she replies through the beginning of her own tears. The sentiment does not need to be spoken aloud or explicit – they both know that this is as far as it can go. “But we’ll still be friends, right?”

“Always,” Lexa says, embracing Costia tightly enough to convey her feelings, before releasing her friend to stand up. She gathers her clothes in silence and starts to pull them on item by item as Costia stares at her through wet eyelashes and it hurts Lexa’s heart to see her this way, but Lexa can’t keep doing this to her. The longer they do this, the longer it will be until Costia finds happiness, and Lexa won’t stand in the way of it anymore.

When she pulls Costia in for their last hug as whatever they are – were – Costia chokes on her tears when she tries to speak and Lexa coos and kisses her temple and tries to comfort her, because Lexa isn’t going anywhere. It’s not a total loss, that is. That should count for something.

“If it wasn’t her?” she says, voice shaken and emotional, as she doubles down on her grip around Lexa’s shoulder. And Lexa isn’t sure if she should, but she tells Costia the truth because they’ve never lied to one another, and Costia deserves to hear how Lexa really feels.

“It would be you. A million times over, it would be you.”

 

* * *

 

 

They finished their discussion about _‘slow-mode’_ over a nightcap before both tapped out for the evening. Anya hugged him goodbye and wished him luck on his mission – with a wink and a nudge – then promised to see him tomorrow, to which he dramatically rolled his eyes.

Deciding against scaling the building again, Lincoln decided to take a more traditional approach to visiting hotel guests, and thus ended up in an elevator, rocking back and forth on his heel in anticipation of seeing the brunette goddess… for no reason other than their common goal. He knocks on the door lightly and almost jumps back when Octavia violently opens the door with a scowl on her face.

“Shi – hi!” he greets, the pitch of his voice embarrassingly high. She regards him silently for a moment and he feels as though he’s going to blow a gasket because he’s hot and he’s sweating under her scrutiny.

“Perhaps you’re not a barbarian after all,” she says finally, and he isn’t sure if he should be happy that’s over, or offended by her superiority complex. “Come in,” she says as she steps aside, and he figures, well – might as well let it go.

“How is Clarke?” Lincoln whispers.

“She is asleep,” Octavia says.

“After that? You were really loud opening the door,” he comments, and she stares daggers at him.

“Actually, we have separate rooms now, since I have a human boyfriend.”

“You do?” Lincoln asks, surprised.

“Indeed.”

“Well,” Lincoln starts without realizing where he’s going to go with this, because really? Why does she need a boyfriend if she’s just visiting? And why a human? Not that there’s anything wrong with them, but, “Why not a god?”

“A god?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I don’t know any Earth gods.”

“Very funny,” he says, and she smiles at him ever-so-slightly. And man, does it do something to him.

“I’m not joking though, Lincoln,” she says, smile still playing at her lips, “Clarke thinks I have a human boyfriend. It was the only way to get my own room and to keep her sectioned off from unexpected visitors, and also to get her to meet Lexa.”

“And how did saying you have a human boyfriend convince her to meet Lexa?”

“Oh, because my human boyfriend is Lexa’s brother,” she says, simply, and Lincoln scrunches his brow in realization.

“Oh…” he says, once again rocking on his heels.

“That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” she asks, walking towards him.

“No, it’s… totally fine. It’ll give both of us cover.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So,” Lincoln starts before clearing his throat, “Will we need to… show affection?” It’s a legitimate question that leaves his mouth feeling a bit dry as he waits for an answer.

“I doubt it,” Octavia replies nonchalantly, “I mean, I guess there’s always a chance, but…” she says, trailing off as she walks further into her room, silently encouraging Lincoln to do the same. “Why? Would that make you uncomfortable?”

“Uh, I can deal with whatever, for the mission…” he says, following Octavia but stopping when she plops onto her bed. He does a quick glance around the room to find the best option for seating for him and strolls to the closest, comfortable looking seat, that’s only a few feet away.

“Is that right? Very admirable of you... I wonder if your self-sacrificing nature provides any insight into your domain,” she muses, and he swallows because… it’s not as far off as he’d like for it to be.

“Relax, Lincoln. I’m just fucking with you.”

“I know,” he says, releasing a breath.

“So, what did Lexa think of Clarke?”

“Not much. What about Clarke and her take on Lexa?”

“Not good.”

“But they’re clearly attracted to one another, right?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I mean, you don’t have to like someone to think they’re really, really hot,” Octavia says, fanning herself.

“So, what do we do to facilitate this… merging?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe they just need time to get to know one another…”

“Too bad we can’t just lock them in a closet together…” Lincoln muses, smiling to himself.

“Wait, that could work!” Octavia exclaims, and Lincoln snaps out of his daze to look at her incredulously.

“What? We can’t do that!”

“Why not? It was your idea.”

“I wasn’t serious! They could tear each other apart!”

“Or they could bang.”

“I think that’s highly unlikely, given their interaction earlier.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out…”

“Octavia, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I have this thing where I try not to put any negativity into the world…”

“Lincoln, you have new priorities. Besides, how much harm can be done by putting the flames in a closet for a couple of hours?”

“They could go nuclear,” he reasons, and she smirks in amusement.

“Let’s hope so, I mean, that’s kind of the point.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

There’s a train nearby, she thinks, staring blankly out the window. The leaves are starting to turn colors now that it’s the end of September. Maybe she should stop and get a coffee for Anya after she’s finished here. There’s that place around the corner that Anya says makes the best baked goods, so maybe she’ll stop there first. Then again, they have coffee too, but their chai tea lattes are not as good. Maybe she it’s best to just go straight to the convention center to see what Anya wants to do – but then, what if she wanted something from this neighborhood? Lexa would have to come all the way back, and…

“Lexa, are you still with me?” Indra’s soothing voice cuts through the haze of Lexa’s mind.

“Yes, sorry Indra, I just, I got distracted,” she says, fiddling with her hands. “Where were we?”

“You were telling me about Costia…”

“Oh, right,” Lexa mutters. “I broke it off,” she continues, gaze once again finding the window.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Lexa?”

“Right. Sorry. I… I feel sad, because she won’t be mine anymore, but I feel happy for her because I could never give myself to her, and she deserves someone who can.”

“Good, Lexa. It’s important to let people go when we know we can’t give them what they need. It’s important for everyone to move on,” Indra says, and Lexa nods blankly. “Do you think you’ll try to move on soon?”

Lexa looks back to Indra and forces out a breath. Part of her wants to scream, ‘we’ve been over this,’ but she can’t bring herself to do it. Indra has been her therapist for fifteen years and Lexa has made tremendous progress with her help. And there is no doubt in Lexa’s mind that Indra really cares for her, beyond what’s required of her as a health professional, so Lexa schools herself and allows herself to be pulled down the rabbit hole again.

“I don’t want to,” Lexa confesses.

“I know,” Indra replies simply. And she does, because if anyone gets what she’s gone through – the battle that plays out in her head over and over and over again, the one she wins sometimes, but mostly loses – it’s Indra.

“Lincoln tried to set me up again,” she says before she can catch herself, not really knowing why she’s bringing this up willingly.

“Is that so? And?”

“He told me that she’s a scientist,” she offers up again, and wants to mentally kick herself.

“So, you’ve met her, then?”

“Yesterday morning. We went to get coffee and to talk about science. Linc said she needed help narrowing down her field.”

“And how did it go?”

“Awful. Like, really terribly. I would have had a better time with myself…”

“Lexa,” Indra warns, though a hint of a smirk plays on her lips.

“She was very religious,” Lexa comments, looking at her watch to see how much time she has left. Forty-three minutes to go.

“Ah, I see. The atheist doesn’t take well to the Christian.”

“I take fine to Christians, so long as they don’t tell me what to believe. But that’s beside the point,” she says, and Indra tilts her head in confusion.

“Why?”

“I don’t think she’s Christian. I don’t know what religion she believes, but she mentioned more than one god so it isn’t the same, old monotheistic religions that have burdened humanity since we first came up.”

“That’s interesting,” Indra adds, and Lexa nods in thought.

“Things got heated…”

“At the coffee shop?” Indra asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“Oh, no – not like that. We got into an argument, I mean, about religion,” she says. “It was really a misunderstanding that escalated, but we very much disagreed with one another. It wasn’t my finest moment…”

“That takes strength to admit,” Indra says.

“I guess so. I’m just happy that Lincoln and Octavia were there to ground us,” Lexa muses, and it’s all so sudden, the shift in Indra. Lexa can feel unsettling confusion sinking into her gut as Indra’s face falls and her smooth writing turns jagged and breaks the end of her pencil.

“Indra, are you okay?” Lexa asks, getting up to move towards her therapist.

“I’m fine, Lexa. Please have a seat,” she says, and Lexa hesitates before sitting back down. “Now, who is this Octavia?”

“She’s Lincoln’s friend, I guess, but I think he likes her. She’s also Clarke’s friend – the girl he set me up with,” she says, and Indra nods with furrowed brows for a moment before the timer goes off.

“Well, good job today, Lexa,” Indra says, getting out of her seat much more quickly than usual. “I know you want to move mountains, and one day you will, but for now, know there’s success in moving yourself too.”

Lexa nods and blinks and she thinks maybe she might be losing it, because she just looked at her watch between nine and twelve minutes ago and she had forty-three minutes left of her session. Where did the rest of that time go?

“Okay, Lexa, bye,” Indra says, and before Lexa can comprehend what’s happening, she is being forced out of Indra’s office and the door is being closed and the blinds are being pulled down for what Lexa thinks is the first time ever, and she stands there, in the hallway, confused as to what the fuck just happened and why she feels so unsettled.

But instead of dwelling on it, she decides it best to just get the fuck out of there, because she really doesn’t care for inexplicable twilight zone phenomena. Some things are just too creepy for her liking.


	4. For the Love of Goddess!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter with a big reveal at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and for the shorter chapter length. This is kind of a transitional chapter and I want the next chapter to flow really well, which is why I cut this one short. I have a lot of things going on right now, but I hope to post the next chapter by the end of next week.
> 
> Enjoy!

For some reason, Octavia has her running errands around the convention center.

It’s not terribly inconveniencing, nor is it unwelcome: Clarke likes the feeling of working towards a greater good; she likes to feel as though she is a contributing force. Even from her first memory, she can recount an overwhelming sense of duty to the universe – to spread light, love, and tranquility so that all beings can flourish – and it has stuck with her ever since.

When she is given a rock, she will create the largest ripple possible despite the size of the stone. When she is refused a rock, she will take it; every atom of her being buzzes with the purpose of serving, of protecting, and restoring _something_ that she feels in her bones but doesn’t quite have a name for.

Now that she is on Earth, her chest swells and burns for it. If she can create the smallest change during her visit, she will do so either as the jaded deity she’s become or as a modest cog in a system that is far more extraordinary than her privileged existence.

So, when Octavia mentions needing Clarke’s help, the blonde jumps at the chance to do a small amount of good.

The peculiarity of the request only occurs to her hours later, after she has turned nearly all the convention center upside-down at the behest of _Ms. ‘if you want something done right…’_ and the human company she now keeps.

Never once has Octavia asked her for help with anything of such nature; and yet, the brunette goddess has had Clarke running between labs to find specific chairs (that she could not find); she’s had her looking in closets, and in empty conference rooms, (without luck); and when she still came up empty-handed from a second-pass, they gave her new instructions.

 _‘Anya’s got a presentation, and she really needs those chairs,’_ Octavia said.

 _‘Oh, but I won’t need the chairs if you can find a_ special _tool I need,’_ Anya said.

 _‘The tool will be much easier to find,’_ they said.

 _‘Anya’s life depends on this tool,’_ they said.

But Clarke’s been all over the building and hasn’t found any _common_ tools, let alone one that is ‘ _kind of like a hammer, but a screwdriver, with a windy-thing_.’

She’s even journeyed to the rather creepy basement and searched all but one closet so far and still, just – _nothing_.

She sighs. She doesn’t really want to search the last closet. She stopped and had a peek into the space when she first arrived in the basement, but quickly decided she would save it for last, hoping she’d find the tool in a more friendly-looking closet.

Before, she couldn’t find the light switch, which wouldn’t be a problem if it were a small closet, but it’s a big closet. And the steel shelving unit is on the furthest wall. Essentially, she’ll be digging in the dark of a closet in the creepy basement, all by her lonesome. But this is Anya’s life, so no matter how irrationally uncomfortable Clarke feels about what will be required of her to save the woman, she’ll do it. Time and time again, she’ll do it.

She decides the best way to approach her fear is to tackle it head-on, so she storms into the closet and takes a long, deep breath in the heart of the darkness to assert herself as the commanding force. Then, after a few minutes of basking in the glory of overcoming her fear, she walks to the shelving unit and kneels to start searching its lowest surface, the ghost of a triumphant smile on her face.

But her face falls and her fingers still when she hears footsteps. She has already faced one fear and is not ready to face another so soon, especially because they have followed her all day, yelling at her without reason, saying things like, ‘ _you’re not supposed to be in here,_ ’ and ‘ _are you a hotel guest, ma’am_?’ and ‘ _security will escort you out_.’

Gods are so quick to dismiss humans as weak and unthreatening, but Clarke thinks if Tracy so much as sees her again – even outside of the hotel for which the woman works – Hell will be summoned to Earth. The woman is so terrifying that even Octavia softened ever-so-slightly in her presence.

But Clarke’s got a job to do, no matter how close she is to impending doom at the hands of her mortal enemy, so she trains her eyes on the shelves before her and keeps digging, not even looking up when the footsteps stop at the door of the closet.

“Clarke?” a familiar voice says, and when her mind puts the voice to a face, her eyes snap towards the door and she jumps at the sight of green, slamming her head into the next shelf up.

“Ah, fuck,” she hisses, her hands reaching up to grab at her aching head.

“Clarke, are you okay?” Lexa asks, moving into the closet, her green eyes heavy with concern for the blonde goddess.

“I’m, y-yeah,” Clarke stutters. She doesn’t know what to make of Lexa when she’s concerned like this. The woman was momentarily concerned when they got coffee, too, and Clarke didn’t know what to make of her then, either, and that was before they had their little argument.

“Do you want me to have a look to appraise the damage?” Lexa asks, withdrawing her gaze in favor of the closet walls, hands ghosting over them at mid-length. A moment later and there’s a click followed by the dull buzz of a dim light coming to life. When Lexa’s green eyes return to hers, Clarke has a lapse of consciousness, and it isn’t until the brunette politely clears her throat that she remembers Lexa asked her a question.

“Oh, right. Sure,” she mutters, her cheeks tinted red from the faux pas.

“Okay,” Lexa breathes in return, walking to Clarke. The goddess is still holding her head when Lexa first makes contact but once she feels the warmth of Lexa’s hands hoovering over her own, she awkwardly retracts them to give the brunette more room to examine the wound.

When Lexa leans even further into Clarke’s space for a closer look under dull light – when lithe fingers gently part blonde hair – Clarke feels breathless and suddenly light-headed.

“Am I going to live?” she asks, her calm demeanor masking the worried confusion bubbling in her belly. She has never been injured before, not even during the time when divine offspring are susceptible to harm, before they come of age. Once immortality is given, divine fates are only rewritten by weapons wielded at the hands of celestial forces.

Her eyes go wide when she considers the possibility of the insinuation: Could another god have made the shelf? Could they have placed it there, in the basement closet of a fancy hotel, as a trap for her or for other unsuspecting deities? Who could have such foresight?

“Clarke?” Lexa says softly, pulling her from her rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. “Your head seems fine, though you’ll probably have a headache for a while.”

Clarke nods lamely, until she realizes Lexa is waiting for her to say something.

“…I’ve never had a headache before,” she comments, and just as Lexa tilts her head and opens her mouth, the door to the closet slams shut, and so does Lexa’s mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lexa is losing her mind.

She has been handle-jiggling and shoulder-slamming into the closet door for at least twenty minutes, after, of course, she confirmed that she has no cell service. Clarke does not have a phone, and while she knows that Clarke has tried to speak to her multiple times since Lexa began acting erratically post-lock in, she can’t bring herself to divert her attention away from finding a way to escape.

She hates small spaces. Like, really, really hates small spaces; like, given-the-family-instructions-to-have-her-cremated-because-the-idea-of-her-dead-body-rotting-in-a-casket-freaks-her-the-fuck-out, hates small spaces.

She jiggles the handle again, probably for the two-hundredth time, and when the door stays firmly locked, she whines and closes her eyes to prepare for impending waterworks.

She faintly hears Clarke’s voice again, but she feels frozen to the spot in which she stands and stuck in her own personal Hell. She feels her tears running down her cheeks; feels the distressed noises as they escape her throat. She knows she’s a mess right now; knows she’s doing a terrible job at hiding it.

And when she feels hands wrap around her waist from behind, and warm breath cooing inaudible comforts in her ear, she no longer cares about keeping up any pretenses.

She tugs on Clarke’s arm, because despite how she feels about being vulnerable around strangers, they’re kind of past that now, and she hopes the blonde will get the hint. She enough, she does, and seconds later, Clarke is spinning them around so they meet halfway, then pulling Lexa into her chest, where Lexa presses her front firmly to Clarke’s, throwing her hands around the blonde and burying her face into Clarke’s warm neck.

She doesn’t know how long they stand like that, but eventually, Clarke drags her to the floor before pulling her into her space again, and Lexa sighs, and breathes, and tries to think about anything but the fact that she feels like she’s suffocating, and strangely enough, obstructing her air intake with the body of a blonde is the only thing that’s helping her get through it.

She doesn’t think about how good it feels to be wrapped up in Clarke, or how her entire body tingles when Clarke’s hands run through her hair, or how Clarke smells like lavender and juniper berries and vanilla mixed together.

It isn’t until the door flies open that she jerks awake, realizing she had fallen asleep. She looks up at Clarke and blushes a little, because the blonde’s blue eyes are sparkling and vibrant that it’s clear Lexa was the only one to fall asleep.

“There you both are! We were all worried sick,” a voice says, and Lexa jumps, then detaches herself from Clarke, hurriedly standing up in the process.

And the awkwardness of it all hits her like the circulation of air now wafting through the closet, but she’s suffocating in its heaviness just as much as she was suffocating in the closed space, and she can’t take it.

So, she leaves without so much of a word or a look back.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a few days after the Closet Incident™ and they are running out of ideas on how to get the flames to join, not to mention time. Octavia can’t help but think if her mother were here, she’d be so livid at the lack of progress, she’d bring on the apocalypse just from her own disdain.

“I really thought the pumpkin patch idea would work,” Lincoln says, and Octavia sees Anya sigh.

“Linc, it’s the same thing as all the others – we can take them to a pumpkin patch, or a haunted house, or out to dinner, and we can force them to interact with one another to a degree, but we can’t force them to actually connect,” Anya huffs.

“It just doesn’t make any sense to me! We’re putting them together, and they’re laughing and they’re making small talk, and then when we ask them about the other, they always say, ‘she’s okay…’ Like, what the fuck do you mean she’s _okay_? Did you not just spend hours enjoying her company?”

Octavia’s mind is turning over and over and over again as they discuss their failings, because obviously they’re missing something.

“And don’t even get me started on the closet thing – Lexa let a stranger comfort her? She hasn’t done that since she was a kid! Hell, she hardly lets me comfort her and I’m her brother. Why are women in our family so damn strong?”

“Now, that’s something we can agree on – if anything suggests a connection it’s that interaction. I’m not sure how Lex just walked away from that still lethargic to Clarke’s existence.”

“Guys,” Octavia says, and when she feels both of their eyes on her, she releases a deep breath because they are so freaking stupid. “We’re so, so dumb. Even by human standards.”

“Humans aren’t dumb,” Anya says with a raised brow.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say…”

“Don’t mind Octavia, An, her knowledge is limited as well,” Lincoln comments, and Octavia snaps her head at him.

“You know, that’s actually true, but I have the capacity at least…”

“I have a feeling this could turn into a thing with you two, and I’m not really in the mood; so, unless you’ve got something compelling or constructive to say, I’ll be on my merry way to enjoy our last few days before Ragnarok,” Anya bites. And Octavia really wants to lay into her, because as War and Will, they are both fierce and have no tolerance for bullshit; however, she knows biting back will be counterproductive to , so she lets it go. Plus, it’s kind of easy to put potential pride aside in lieu of guaranteed pride, because…

“I have been thinking of them as if they’re flammable materials we could just bring together, then whoever has the lighter can come in and do their thing…” Octavia says as she watches Lincoln and Anya. Lincoln looks at her puzzled, but Anya, ever the scientist, is piecing it together much more quickly. It’s truly a wonder the thought didn’t come to her before it came to Octavia.

“We are idiots!” Anya yells, and Octavia smirks.

“One of you care to explain why we’re so stupid?” Lincoln asks, brows furrowing together curiously.

“Octavia is right,” Anya says, “We’ve been thinking about this sequentially and from experience. If we’re going to start a fire, let’s get two logs and toss them into a pit. After they’re joined in the pit, we light the fire. Boom, world is saved. But that’s not what the prophecy says.”

“Right. The stoke throws them in the pit…” Octavia adds, seeing Lincoln start to nod.

“Then they get lit,” he finishes.

“Bingo.”

“Well, what do we know about the stoke?” Lincoln asks.

“I think we can probably assume she’s in DC,” Anya says.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we’re all here, and because Octavia and Clarke came to DC without knowing where to go. We’re probably drawn to one another; just a hypothesis.”

“But what if we’re drawn together, is it because we’re gods or because we’re part of the prophecy?” Octavia asks.

“I don’t think we’re going to get the answer to that for a while, if ever,” Anya remarks, and Octavia finds herself sighing.

“Okay, well,” she says, putting her hands on her hips, “Do you guys know anyone who makes things go boom?”

A minute later and Lincoln is laughing hysterically with his hands on his knees to support his rigorous chuckling and Anya becomes so pale she looks to have just been struck with a bolt of lightening.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Fuck,” Anya thinks she says out loud, but she’s not entirely sure any sound escaped her throat. She’s kind of freaking out right now, because the universe has a sick sense of humor and more often than not she’s the butt of its jokes.

Raven fucking Reyes is the stoke.

For the love of goddess!


	5. Good Goddess!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa has an intense dream; Abby finds her way to Earth, as does Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooooops. Sorry for the belated update. I have a lot of creative monsters clawing at my brain matter right now. Hope the longer chapter compensates.

There is a choice to make.

To _exist_ means there is _always_ a choice to make.

His actions now will not only determine the fate of the gods and of humanity, but also the nature in which both will persevere.

“…Thelonious, I do not know what I will do if something has happened,” Abigail breaks as Thelonious moves to embrace the distraught goddess.

“Abigail, do not worry. We will find Clarke and Octavia and bring them home,” he whispers over her sniffling.

“I would be grateful if you would allow me a hand in the search.”

“Very well. Go to the ground now and I will send reinforcements to assist with the search shortly after your departure,” he says, because granting Abigail a leave of absence to find Clarke will work out in his favor – in their favor – and if he can busy her on the ground, it will also get her out of their way there, too.

“Thank you, Thelonious. Thank you for always looking out for us,” she mumbles into his shoulder before pulling away.

“Always, Abigail. I will always do what is best for us,” he replies, walking to the door to hold it open for her to exit through. When she’s turned the far corner and out of sight, Thelonious catches the eye of his head guard, and silently commands his presence.

“Your Grace?”

“There is wickedness abound and we must stop it before it destroys us, John,” Thelonious says with a flicker of mischief in his eye.

“What kind of wickedness?”

“False prophets. Those who do not want us to reach the City of Light are doing everything to prevent our success.”

When John’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly and he nods, Thelonious knows his right-hand is on-board.

“John, you know I am fond of you. I do not want to burden you,” Thelonious starts, pausing as John cuts him off.

“Burden me, please sir. This is my cause, too. Allow me to help and I will not fail you,” John says, following Thelonious as their leader turns and walks towards his personal balcony.

“I need you to be sure,” Thelonious says without looking at John, and when the young god hastily agrees, the God of the Sky turns to study John’s features thoroughly, finding certainty etched in the lines of his face.

“Know now, this will not be easy. We will all be required to make sacrifices to survive.”

“I understand, sir. Please tell me what you need.”

“Very well, John. First, find Aurora and Bellamy. Aurora has committed treason against me and I will not stand for that. You will execute her discreetly, without trial. I have a feeling Bellamy’s allegiances are with his mother, but we will wait to execute him until we know for sure, so you will find a way to hold him and keep him quiet. Will any of that be a problem, John?”

“No, sir.”

“After you have taken care of mother and son, I want you to go to _him_ and send him to the ground. Clarke will be easier to control if she has her hound.”

Thelonious turns to see a fleeting look of terror flash across John’s face before the young god nods.

“Good. Go now, and do not fail me.” 

* * *

 

 

There’s a reason why Lexa is one of the top scientists in her field. She’s worked hard, of course, especially to be as highly regarded as colleagues that have years and experience on her, but her exceptional intelligence has also set her apart.

Not to mention the gravitational pull she feels towards the universe, but that’s neither here nor there.

To be so intelligently aware, there would have to be some elaborate phenomena to distract her from the very obvious fact that _something_ is most definitely going on.

She didn’t think anything of the strange happenings at first. Even the time conundrum when she last saw Indra, she wrote off as soon as she left the woman’s office.

But the way Lincoln and Anya have been acting has her paying attention more closely.

Oh, and of course, there’s the dreams.

After having not dreamt since she was a child – since before her accident – she’s been on edge for the last week, her unconsciousness once again filled with colorful obscurities and foreign familiarities.

But _she’s_ always there, and even more strange? So is Clarke. 

Lexa tosses and turns in bed, trying to settle down and let her body rest, but it isn’t easy when she knows what she’ll be getting herself into. When unconsciousness finally overtakes her, her body buzzes on her mattress.

 _Her eyes are fighting to open, but her mind is so overloaded with the feeling of her body on fire that it takes a while for her to will herself to make it happen. Blurred blues stare back at her, wisps of blonde fall into her face, and she can’t make out whether the woman above her is_ her _girl or Clarke._

_When she blinks, her vision clears, but the blonde woman is now standing with her back towards Lexa, eyes seemingly focused on the car that hit Lexa, left her in a puddle of mangled limbs and fleeing existence._

_The car goes up in flames and Lexa can’t breathe. There is a man standing with wide-eyes off to the side, in the not-so-distance darkness of an alleyway. When she makes eye contact with him, he holds her gaze and is surprised to discover she finds it comforting rather than creepy or invasive._

_She blinks again, and the scene changes._

_Now, she sits at a small, pink table that’s set with inexpensive china. She feels the weight of her long hair braided down her back just as it was when she was a kid and when she turns to take in her childhood room, she sees her._

_Not her girl. Not Clarke._

_Someone else, someone just as beautiful – just as important –_

_“Mama?” she whispers, her young voice full of wavering treble._

_Her hair is curly and wild and unkept, and seeing it again, like this, fills Lexa’s heart with warmth. When her mother looks over her shoulder, her big eyes sparkle with love as she shoots Lexa a wink._

_“Patience, my darling,” she says through a smirk, turning to reveal the small pot of tea she’d been preparing, and Lexa cannot contain the smile that settles into her small face. Her mother walks to her, pours her a cup of tea, and sits in the small chair to Lexa’s left, smiling widely despite the discomfort of sitting at a child’s table as a full-grown adult._

_And Lexa can’t take it anymore, can’t contain the love she has for her mother, can’t not tell her…_

_So, little Lexa launches herself into her mother’s arms, as tears burst free from behind her eyelids and travel in streams down her chubby cheeks. They fall backward, and when they do, the chair disappears, but Lexa barely registers it because her mother’s hands envelop her tightly and pull the young girl into her chest and neck._

_“Oh, darling, why are you crying? Are you not happy to see me?” her mother coos._

_“I am crying_ because _I am so happy to see you. I’ve missed you so much, mama,” Lexa sobs._

_“I have missed you too, little one, but I am with you every day.”_

_“But it’s not the same…”_

_“I’m so sorry, my dear. I never wanted to leave you…”_

_“I know… I know, mama,” Lexa says, sighing as her tears start to taper off._

_“Gustus has raised you well,” her mother comments, and Lexa nods because she can’t disagree. “Lexa, darling, I need to tell you something.”_

_“Okay,” Lexa says, waiting as her body tenses above her mother._

_“Gustus is not your birth father. He loves you very much, but he is not your father.”_

_Lexa is afraid to blink now, because every time she does, there is a chance she will be taken away to experience some other vision, but she is so stunned that she cannot help herself._

_“What?” she asks incredulously. “Who is my father if Gustus is not my father?”_

_“You do not have a father…” her mother says, hesitating, pausing, considering saying more._

_“How is that – how is that possible?” she stutters, and she sighs again when her mother squeezes her to comfort her._

_“I cannot say, my dear, but all will be revealed soon enough.”_

_“So, there is something going on? Does this have to… does this have to do with the girl in the sky? The girl who came to me when the car hit me? Does it have to do with Clarke?”_

_“I cannot say.”_

_“Mother, please. I have spent most of my life believing I am crazy. I need to know if any of it is true.”_

_“Alexandria… You have the truth. You have always had the truth. Your heart knows; it has always known. You are fated, my love, and she will always find you,” her mother said. “And with that, I must go.”_

_“What?” Lexa asked, tears pooling at her eyes again. How could she say goodbye again so soon?_

_“We have run out of time. Time, in general, is running out. You must not let time run out for good,” the woman said, her form flickering like a dying lightbulb. “I love you, my dear. I am so proud of you…”_

_“Mom? Mom! Please don’t go!” Lexa sobs, reaching out to grab a ghostly hand once more before she finally flickers out._

_“No,” she breaks, closing her eyes when she feels the chill of loneliness again._

_And when she opens them again, the fire scorching her body has returned, but this time…_

Oh.

_Fuck._

_She’s naked and writhing, chest pressed against a mattress in a room she can’t bring herself to care about. Soft hands trail down the length of her back; the softest lips she’s ever felt drop wet kisses along her spine as she feels weight shifting further down. Her back arches with every lick, every nibble, every squeeze of her hips, thighs, and she can’t help but whimper when nails dig into the curve of her ass._

_She wants to turn, wants to see who has made a such mess her, but she’s too lost in the touches and rare intimacy, in how_ right _it feels._

_When soft hands gently part her trembling legs, a vibrato moan unwittingly tumbles from her mouth and she wants to spread further, wants to angle her knees into the bed and shift herself back towards the tender, tentative fingers that tease at her._

_She bites down hard on her lip, her own hands curling to grasp at the white sheets beneath her hot body._

_She’s practically on fire, delightfully so, burning beneath the touch of the goddess whose spell she’s under, and she’s about to explode._

_Finally,_ finally _– when deliberate fingers sink into her core, she must hold her breath to not fall apart immediately. Swollen lips return to her back and wet kisses between her shoulder blades; teeth drag across her upper back during rests, and_ god _does it feel good to be touched like this: intimately, thoughtfully, carefully. She feels herself fluttering irrepressibly around those perfect fingers, moving faster with purpose, and it’s so much and so good that she can’t keep herself together any more._

_Her back arches, and the woman pushes forward, and when golden strands fall over her shoulder, the realization sends her over the edge and she finally falls apart._

* * *

 

 

She wakes out of breath, to the faint sound of Octavia’s voice.

“Hmm?” she mumbles, head hazy with sleep.

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” Octavia says, sitting down on Clarke’s bed, and blue eyes flutter open.

“I guess.”

“Really, Clarke. You didn’t even sleep this much during your peak bed-ridden days. Is everything okay?”

She’s still half-asleep, but awake enough to know Octavia is concerned, so she shifts her body towards the brunette to provide assurances and groans at the discovery of the wetness pooling between her legs.

Then she remembers the dream.

Oh god, the dream! And holy shit, what a dream it was.

The body of the woman below her… falling apart at her fingertips.

_Fuck._

“Clarke!” Octavia yells, and when the blonde looks up, she’s visibly annoyed.

“Sorry, I… you’re right, I have been sleeping a lot,” Clarke says, biting her lip. And shit, if she’s being honest, she’s not going to cut back if all her dreams as fulfilling as her last.

“Are you okay? When did this start?”

“I’m okay, I think,” she says half-heartedly as she contemplates the timeline. “I think the dreams started when I got hurt.”

Octavia stares at her with her mouth agape for a few minutes and Clarke winces at her slip, trying to gather the courage to go head-to-head against the Goddess of War.

“You _what_?”

“Uh,” she barely gets out, and then Octavia is talking over her, like she usually does when she’s pissed at Clarke.

“You got hurt? How the hell did you get hurt? _When_ did you get hurt?” Octavia shouts, pushing herself off the bed while flailing her arms dramatically.

“It was—”

“You’ve been dreaming? What the fuck, Clarke!”

“Yeah, well—”

“And neither of these details seemed important at the time?”

“It’s not—”

“I repeat, what the fuck?”

“Octavia! Shut up!” she snaps, and Octavia finally quiets.

“I hit my head on the shelf when I was stuck in the closet with Lexa. The dreams started after. I didn’t mention either of them because I didn’t want to worry you.”

“That’s not how this works. You need to tell me these things, Clarke, or I can’t protect you.”

“I think you’re taking your best friend duties a little too seriously, O,” Clarke says. “I’m glad you want to have my back, really, but you’re not my keeper, okay?”

A flash of fury erupts against brown irises and Clarke blinks in confusion before finding her friend calm again. She wants to question it because it’s something she’s seen before plenty of times but it’s never been directed at her, but before she gets the chance, the balcony door is being flung open and a figure is limping into her room, tattered and bloody, and oh no.

“Bellamy?” the blonde says, moving quickly to catch her falling friend, choking back the tears that threaten to spill for him. When she turns to his sister, Octavia is frozen, brow furrowed and hand covering her mouth. Clarke searches the brunette’s face and effortlessly finds concern and distress, but doesn’t see any sign of surprise and to say it’s unsettling isn’t enough; however, they don’t have time to discuss Octavia’s reaction when Bellamy is fighting for his life.

“Octavia! Help me!” she yells, her impatience getting the better of her. “Rip the bed sheet into smaller pieces so we can tie off his limbs and try to stop the bleeding there. Get me a towel for his chest!”

Clarke is thankful when Octavia snaps out of her daze and goes to work to get Clarke the things she needs. Her hands tighten on Bellamy’s loose clothing and she looks him in the eye, releasing a breath when she sees him still there, still holding on.

“She’s here, Clarke,” Bellamy chokes out.

“Who is? Whoever did this to you?”

“Abby is here,” he coughs.

“My mother did this to you?” she sobs.

“No, no – John,” he says, barely holding himself together.

“What happened, Bell? Why would John do this to you?”

He starts stuttering, trying to form words but they seemingly escape him, and he gives up before deciding to go another route.

“Tell O we love her, Clarke,” he mumbles and Clarke squeezes her eyes tightly to expel the flood pooling at her water lines.

“Shut up,” she cries, silently telling him to tell her himself. “We?”

“Mom,” he sniffles, shaking his head, and Clarke’s chest constricts with the confession.

Aurora is gone and Bellamy is nearly gone and Clarke can’t allow it to happen – she can’t let Octavia lose her brother, not when she’s already lost her mother. She can’t, and she won’t.

“You need to hold on. Please, promise me? Just until I get back?”

“Wh- where?”

“You said my mother is here. I’m going to find her and she is going to save you.”

“Clar- Clarke,” he pleads, his request desperate but unclear, and it breaks her heart to leave him but she must if she wants him to survive.

“I love you, Bell. Hold on for me, okay?” she says, dropping a kiss on his forehead before running out the door.

* * *

 

 

The plan was to finally loop in Gustus and Nyko. The plan was to get the dads involved because they can’t seem to get Lexa to look at Clarke, let alone like her, and they need help: help deciding on how much information to give Raven, help manipulating and protecting Lexa, help saying goodbye.

But Gustus and Nyko seem to have disappeared into thin air, as have the rest of the ground gods, and Lincoln and Anya are at a loss.

When Lexa answers her phone, Lincoln breathes a sigh of relief.

“Lincoln, are you okay?” she asks, likely noticing the quiver in his voice.

“I’m fine. Are you okay? Where are you?” he asks, pacing back and forth in Nyko’s living room while Anya stares on with an echoing expression of horror.

“I’m okay… Are you sure _you’re_ okay? You sound like something terrible has happened. I’m on my way to therapy, but –”

“No, Lexa, listen to me. Something has happened, and I need you to meet me outside of the Air and Space museum. Don’t,” he pauses, knowing full well how ridiculous he’s about to sound, “don’t talk to strangers, okay? I’ll be there in a half-hour and I will explain everything when I see you.”

“Linc, this isn’t a joke, right? Please tell me if this is a joke,”

“It’s not a joke, Lex. You’re in danger; I think we all are. So, stay put in front of the museum. I’m on my way,” he says sighing as he hangs up, then turns his attention to Anya.

“You need to go to Raven. If our entire family has been taken, they are going to take her too.”

Anya nods, and Lincoln is grateful that she doesn’t put up a fight – her willingness to fall in line is a sure sign of the seriousness and urgency of the situation.

When they part, they’re both on foot because it’s rush hour and the metro is as dense with people as the streets are with cars. From where Nyko lives in Foggy Bottom to the convention center isn’t very far, so Anya in that regard. The distance from Nyko’s to the Air and Space isn’t so close for him, but if Lexa was heading to Logan Circle for therapy, it won’t be out of her way.

He sprints to Lexa at full speed, side-stepping pedestrians and weaving through stilled traffic, while never slowing down. He arrives at Air and Space in twenty minutes, and bobs through the crowd to look for his sister. After ten minutes of looking, and waiting, and rocking anxiously on his heels, he breaks down and calls her, and when he gets her voice mail, his heart sinks.

He is her protector and he could not protect her.

Maybe Lexa got tied up, he thinks. Maybe she ran into Indra, or got hung up on the phone when she called to cancel their appointment.

He Googles the address to Indra’s office and then lets his feet carry him swiftly there. When he bursts into the office, Indra jumps, taken aback, and he winces a bit at his behavior, but he isn’t like Lexa – he will not prioritize manners in emergencies.

“Lincoln?” Indra asks, eyebrows raised to the ceiling. He wants to ask how she knows who he is, but there isn’t time for that.

“Where is Lexa?”

“I do not know. She didn’t show up for her appointment.”

_Shit._

“So, she – she didn’t call?”

“I’m afraid not. Lincoln, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“No, yes – she was supposed to meet me and she didn’t show up for that either, and I’m, I’m very worried,” he says, rubbing his head as he stares at the carpet in Indra’s office.

“You need to find her, now,” Indra commands, and Lincoln’s head snaps up, because it’s not the response he’s expecting.

“Um –”

“Now, Lincoln!” she screams, and the next thing he knows, he’s back on the street.

It’s all a blur, really.

And if the athleticism of his earlier runs displayed his grace, this time his divinity must be so obviously unavoidable because he runs like a man possessed by the primordial, wild and chaotic.

When he reaches Lexa’s apartment, the front door is ajar, and he finds himself clinching his fists and locking his jaw as he cautiously enters. He makes his way through the rummaged living room and as he reaches the end of the hall, he finds a woman in Lexa’s room, ransacking through her drawer of her night stand.

And before Lincoln can process it, she’s lunging at him, driving him back into the far wall of the hallway, and choking him out with a practiced fury.

He would gulp, if he could.

“Where is she?” the woman asks through gritted teeth, seething in her authority. She’s so regal in the way that she carries herself that it’s almost as if she’s got a goddess complex…

And _fuck_ , sometimes he is so slow. He looks at the woman’s wrist for visual confirmation, as if her display of physical strength weren’t already proof enough, and sure enough, he finds the Asclepius Wand marked there.

He closes his eyes, his own wrist starting to burn with purpose. When the heat crescendos, his eyes fall open sharp and focused, right fist now clinching his glowing, golden lasso.

She releases his neck and takes a step back when he snaps his lasso forward, and the look of surprise on the goddess’ face is so awesome that he wants to revel in it, but fury returns to her face all too soon.

“Tell me where she is, and I won’t hurt you,” the goddess says and Lincoln wants to laugh.

“Like you could,” he says, smirking as he nods to the mark on her wrist.

And when she growls, literally _growls_ , his smirk all but falls away.

“Last chance,” she snarls, and he knows she isn’t bluffing.

But he will sooner go to his grave than give her any information about his sister, so he echoes her growl with another snap of his lasso and the spark of her eyes tells him he’s got himself a fight.

And good goddess, does he wish he could take it all back when her wrist glows for a fraction of a second and then a giant serpent appears, immediately hurling itself at him.

Despite the initial shock of the massive beast, he manages a roll and escapes the first lunge narrowly, then rolls again to the opposite side to miss the next. It momentarily occurs to him that Lexa is going to be pissed about the state of her apartment when she comes home – because she will come home – but he tries not to dwell on it as he leads the snake down the hallway and into the living room.

The snake lunges again and Lincoln dives onto the couch, twisting his body in the air and flicking his wrist so that his lasso wraps around the neck of the beast. The serpent hisses and pulls at the loop to force its release, so Lincoln tugs to tighten the grasp on its neck. It isn’t until his own neck is in a similar situation that he realizes that he forgot one _tiny_ detail: the goddess herself.

Her lithe fingers squeeze so tightly around his airway that he cannot breathe.

No, really – he can’t fucking breathe.

He’s about two seconds from losing consciousness when the hand grasping his lasso falls open and the hands around his neck release him. He claws at his neck, sucking in deep breaths as the goddess pulls at the loop enclosed around her serpent’s neck.

And shit, is he completely screwed now, lasso thrown to the floor behind the approaching reptile. He takes one more deep breath as the snake wraps itself around him, its master observing from behind, safe in its shadow.

“Are you ready to tell me where she is?” she spits, and when Lincoln clinches his jaw, the woman nods and the snake coils more tightly.

They go back and forth as such for a while: she demands to know where Lexa is, he says nothing, then her serpent squeezes and squeezes until he can’t feel his fingers or toes.

“You’ll die like this,” she says factually – pleadingly – after who knows how long, and he thinks she’s right.

He is barely holding it together, on the verge of losing consciousness again, and when his eyes fall shut he’s not so worried about what comes next.

He’s nearly gone for good, he thinks, when he vaguely hears the far-off sound of a familiar voice.

“Mother?”

And he wants to open his eyes to see to whom the voice belongs, but he hasn’t the energy.

What comes next is not he expected – his body isn’t lifeless; his spirit isn’t outside his body floating to some obscure destination. Instead, he can breathe again; feels his chest rising and falling freely, unconstructed in its movements as he charges back into full-on consciousness.

When his eyes open, Clarke is standing over him, and the other goddess is standing in the corner, biting her lip with what he thinks is a guilt-twisted brow. The serpent is nowhere in sight, and he’s quite thankful for its disappearance.

“Are you okay, Lincoln?” Clarke asks, and he nods.

“Good. Get up. Octavia’s brother is seriously injured and I need to get my mother back to our hotel to heal him,” she says, pausing as he rises. Once he’s on his feet, she grabs him by the arm and her fingers _burn_ as she digs them into his flesh, her face suddenly morphing from relief to anger. “Oh, and on the way to the hotel, you can tell me why you’ve been lying to Octavia and me. After, of course, you and mother dearest explain to me why you were going all War of the Gods on each other. Sound good? Great,” she says with a seething bite, and Lincoln can’t help but think the mother-daughter resemblance is absurdly uncanny as he collects his lasso and follows the darling duo out the door.

* * *

 

 

They arrive at the hotel more quickly than anticipated due to Lincoln’s insistence they take a car, and their ride is so short that neither her mother nor Lincoln get to say much of anything outside of their half-hearted whispered apologies. Clarke clinches her fists through the lobby, digs her nails into her palm in the elevator to her and Octavia’s floor.

Once they’re through the door of her hotel room, Clarke pushes Abby towards Bellamy, keeping herself calm as her friend is healed, telling herself she’ll remain as such during the discussion to come; however, as soon as Bellamy has color back in his face – as soon as he is wiggling his fingers, and letting his eyes flutter open, and sitting up, and is chugging water, and is hugging Octavia – Clarke lets chaotic searing in her stomach blaze, and suddenly:

She is fuming.

She doesn’t know where to focus her frustration first, as she looks around the room. Lincoln stands by the door, tentative and mopey like a scared puppy; Bellamy is on the bed, with Octavia at his side; her mother has taken a seat near the bed, and is so guarded in her demeanor that Clarke wonders if she has ever seen her mother so tense.

 _First things, first,_ she thinks. Who better to start with than a man whose existence in their lives is built on deceit?

She turns her sight back to Lincoln, who has steeled himself, seemingly aware that she’d call on him first.

“Lincoln,” she says, brow furrowed in anger, eyes burning into his big, brown irises. “You can start by telling Octavia the truth.”

Lincoln’s eyes travel from Clarke’s to Octavia’s, as his mouth opens, then abruptly closes.

“Well?” she says, impatience clear in her voice.

“I-I,” Lincoln stutters, and Clarke feels heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Lincoln, c’mon! Tell my best friend how you’ve been lying to us.” she baits. “Don’t lose your nerve now, you –”

“Clarke!” she hears Octavia bellow through the vibrato of her own shouting, and snaps her head around, connecting eyes with her now approaching best friend.

“Lincoln didn’t lie,” she says, stopping a few feet from Clarke, and Clarke can’t help but tilt her head in confusion. “We have known of each other since our first meeting,” Octavia clarifies, and Clarke suddenly finds herself light-headed, dizzy with something that feels a little like betrayal.

It isn’t until Octavia moves to still her that she realizes she’s swaying. The Goddess of War grasps at her wrists to steady her and Clarke wants nothing more than to draw back and swat at the woman, but she can’t seem to banish the hands that guide her to the chair beside her mother.

She processes the implications; lets them seep into her consciousness, slowly and as viscous as honey. She sits there in silence, eyes trained on the carpet of her hotel room floor, mind turning over on itself like a machine.

She sits there for five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes.

Because something big is going on and they’ve all been keeping it from her.

Because if the foundation of her life are these people, in this room – if her life is built for her mother, and Bellamy, and Octavia – and they have all been lying to her, then what does she have? It’s not _her_ life, it’s theirs.

She’s been living an illusion.

She pulls her attention from the floor for the first time in who knows how long, and regards those around her.

“Who wants to go first?” she asks, eyes traveling from shamed to the ashamed.

She feels the dissonance of the silence that follows, releasing a silent plea for someone to have the courage to put her out of her misery.

“Why didn’t you just tell me where Clarke was?” Abby asks Lincoln, and Clarke feels her stomach drop.

Because of course, when she needs answers, all she gets is questions.

“I didn’t know you were talking about Clarke,” Lincoln replies, then pauses to look at Octavia. “I was looking for my sister. She’s missing. It’s her apartment you tore apart. Which, by the—”

“Lexa’s missing?” Clarke blurts as soon as she processes what Lincoln’s said. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you looking for her?”

“I’ve looked everywhere – I –”

“Lincoln,” Clarke whispers, another realization having suddenly struck her. “Is Lexa a god, too?”

Lincoln looks to Octavia and Clarke can tell he’s in over his head.

“Clarke,” Octavia says, “You may want to sit back down,” but Clarke hadn’t realized she was standing.

“Somebody tell me what the hell is going on right now,” she yells with a fury, surprising herself as her anger kind of just snuck up on her.

“There is a prophesy,” Octavia starts, and Bellamy hushes her, nodding towards Abby.

“A prophesy?” Abby says, eyeing the siblings.

When everything goes silent again, Clarke looks to Bellamy.

“I am at my wit’s end, Bell. I am barely holding it together right now, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, God-of-Endless-Chatter, but if you don’t start talking, I’m going to cut your fucking tongue out.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy inhales, “This isn’t a game.”

“Just do as she asks!” Abby hisses.

“Of course, you’d say that. Ever the lemming,” Bellamy spits.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Abby asks, incredulously.

“It means that you blindly follow whatever Thelonious tells you,” he explains, and Clarke’s convinced her eyes are going to pop out of her head at any moment if this exchange continues.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He is God of the Sky, but he is not my deity,” she argues.

“So, you’re delusional then. Glad we cleared that up.”

“Bellamy!” Clarke exclaims, stepping between the two of them after seeing them both stand and step towards one another. “I’ll remind you that this is my mother. And Bellamy is my friend,” she pauses to send them matching glares.

“Why do you believe I am delusional?” Abby asks, a new calm to her voice. “Give me one example of why you are speaking heresy.”

“Twin flames,” he replies simply, and Clarke tilts her head in confusion again.

“Oh, not this again,” her mother mutters.

“Case in point.”

“There was never any evidence!”

“There absolutely was, Abigail. There still is!”

When Clarke looks to Abby, there’s something in her mother’s eyes she’s never seen before. Guilt? Regret? Not quite…

“I’d like to see this proof,” Abby says, and when Lincoln speaks up, Clarke sees her mother throw the ground god a look of disproval.

“I have proof, but we need to find her,” he comments through Abby’s scorn.

And Clarke’s eyes bulge out of her head again.

“Her? Who’s _her_?” Clarke asks, and when she sees Octavia and Lincoln share a glance, she knows they’re talking about Lexa. “What does Lexa have to do with any of this?” she asks, then another thought occurs to her. “What do I have to do with any of this?”

“Clarke, remember when I said you might want to sit back down?” Octavia retorts.

So, Clarke nods, and sits back down.

And she listens.

As it turns out, the truth feels a bit like one of those semi-trucks driving straight through her glass palace.

Still though, she is baffled; dumbstruck.

Because how could she ever burn for Lexa? How could Lexa burn for her?

The mystery of such passion sinks into her bones, idle and sticky, and all she can do is scoff, because of course.

All she gets is more questions.


	6. For Goddess' Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most revealing chapter yet...

Raven Reyes has a sense of humor.

One might even say that Raven Reyes has _the_ sense of humor. Comedy, tragedy – it’s all the same. She’s a genius, man. She gets it.

So, of course she finds her whole life hilarious. Really – it’s been a treat, filled to the brim with supposed ‘inappropriate’ laughter. She really can’t help herself, doesn’t want to.

But Anya’s here, and she’s distressed, and Raven knows what this is all about.

“Have you figured it all out?” she asks, and Anya stops her pacing to look at her.

“What?” Anya asks with her brow raised in confusion. “Oh, _that_. I mean, yeah, it’s fairly obvious.”

“Well, it took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up,” Raven replies.

“It’s not exactly easy, not with the lives we lead,” Anya retorts, eyes softer and warmer than Raven has ever seen them.

“There will always be something bigger than us,” Raven says as she takes a step towards Anya, and she smirks when Anya’s eyes widen.

“There is,” Anya coughs, clearing her throat and taking a lunge backwards.

“We should get out of here. We could talk about everything for hours, but to be honest, I could use some action. I’ve been waiting so long; I’ve been _ready_ for so long,” she says, allowing Anya to maintain her distance.

“What? No! I mean, _yes_ , we _should_ get out of here, but not for _that_ ,” Anya mumbles, lunging backwards again, wincing when her back hits the wall. “I’m - I’m not here for _that_!”

“I know?” Raven says, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What the hell are you trying to do to me, Reyes?” Anya asks, as equally as perplexed as Raven.

And with the realization that they’ve been talking about two different things, Raven laughs. So hardily that she’s tipping over, hands finding her knees so that she doesn’t giggle herself horizontal.

“I’m not doing anything! I think –” she starts, breathily through her chuckles.

“You’re so insufferable!” Anya interrupts, and Raven’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement. “I’m trying to tell you something important and you can’t stop your games for a minute!”

“Anya, listen –”

“No, Raven, you listen – I have some life-altering news for you… Like, spoiler alert, but everything you think you know about science and the world is wrong! There’s a whole other species out there, and we need your help,” Anya spits, and Raven can see she’s pained, even as Anya turns away. “I say _we_ because I’m part of that species… I’m –”

“The Goddess of Will,” Raven mutters factually, and when Anya whips her head around to glare at her, she smiles wide, eyes sparkling with a mischievous gleam.

“I… You… Could you be serious, for once?”

“What, you think I’m joking? That I don’t believe you? That that was just some perfectly-timed random guess? That would be entirely too coincidental.”

Anya is silent for a moment, before turning to Raven again. “What else could it be?” she asks.

“Well, _genius_ , maybe what I’ve been talking about this whole time,” she says, pausing to flash Anya a smug smile. “I know who I am – I know _what_ I am. You just assumed I was talking about us-us, not _us,_ as a people.”

Anya contemplates it for a moment, but when she looks at Raven again, Raven call tell she’s still not sure they’re talking about the same thing.

“Who – who are you, to be specific?” Anya asks tentatively, cocking her head to the side.

“Oh, me?” Raven says, smiling brightly, her confidence blazing despite Anya’s eye roll.

“Raven,” Anya warns, and Raven bats her eyes lashes, drawing out Anya’s impatience because mad Anya, snappy Anya, impatient Anya, are all really, really hot. And Raven likes things that are _really_ hot.

She like, _really_ , _really_ likes things that are _really_ hot.

Raven flashes Anya another wicked grin as she pulls her sleeve up past her wrist and walks closer.

“You’d think it’d be obvious, you know,” Raven says, lifting her wrist towards Anya, and the blonde’s eyes go wide when her emblem is in sight.

“You’re – you’re –”

“The Goddess of Fire. _Yes_ , Anya. _Duh_ , Anya,” Raven says chuckling. “ _Now_ , don’t we have some flames to stoke? A universe to save? A romance to cultivate? Oh, and so we’re clear: I mean _our_ romance.”

“God, you –”

“Goddess. You mean goddess,” Raven says, appreciating the adorable scoff that follows.

“Gah!” Anya shouts. “You still think this is going to happen?” She laughs humorlessly, hands planted on her hips, shaking her head in disbelief, and the reaction is so very Anya that Raven wants to tackle her and kiss her silly right there. “You do remember that I’m kind of known for my strength of resolve, right?”

“Oh, _babe_. We both know you’re already in love with me, _strength of resolve_ be damned.”

* * *

 

 

She stands on the balcony of her suite, eyes blurring with the lights of the noisy streets below as she contemplates her life, what is was and what it means moving forward.

Her divine responsibility weighs more heavily on her shoulders now.

She wants to be upset. She wants to run from the revelation of this new life significance. She wants to go to sleep, wants to dream of her ground girl, wants to stay there forever.

She jumps a bit when she hears the glass door slide open, and with a glance over her shoulder she steps aside for Octavia.

“How are you doing?” she asks, timid and reserved.

“I should be asking you,” Clarke mumbles wistfully. Anger still bubbles in her belly, but so does concern for her friend.

“My mother died for the righteous; we will mourn her when our battle is over,” Octavia states, her voice proud and strong.

“How do you know?” Clarke asks, because how can she? How can Octavia be so certain that this prophesy is true? How could she be willing to put her life on the line, her brother’s?

“How do I know she died doing the right thing?” she asks, and Clarke nods. “Because, Clarke, she died to save you. That will always be the right thing, prophesy or not.”

She feels Octavia’s fingers lace with her own as she fights the tears that threaten to spill, staring away from her best friend.

“You’ve been lying to me my whole life,” she states, a single tear streaking down her right cheek.

“Clarke,” Octavia sighs, squeezing her hand over Clarke’s. “I know all of this is a lot, and finding out I’ve been lying about it – that I’ve known and kept it from you – doesn’t help. For what it’s worth, I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“You don’t?” Clarke questions.

“Not now. Maybe not ever. I’m not going to try to control you. I’ve never wanted to control you. My only concern has been protecting you, and getting you to Lexa.”

“You manipulated us…”

“Not because I wanted to,” Octavia says.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did. Just because you’re out here, being a good friend… doesn’t mean that you haven’t been a bad friend; doesn’t mean that our friendship isn’t based on a lie; doesn’t mean that friendship hasn’t been your primary motivation for getting close to me…”

“You’re right, Clarke, and I’m sorry,” Octavia whispers, water in her eyes gathering like in Clarke’s.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

“Because, I wasn’t just protecting the flame – I was protecting my friend, too. And I don’t know if you’ve met yourself, but you’re a bit of a loose cannon at times,” she says with the ghost of a smirk on her face. “Besides, there’s the whole Thelonious is the bad guy thing. You probably would have given the resistance away from the first. You don’t exactly have chill, you know?”

“Chill,” Clarke chuckles. “We have assimilated.”

“Better to blend in, my dear.”

“Those aren’t terrible reasons.”

“I know, but I’m sorry regardless of the fact,” Octavia admits, and Clarke finds herself drawing in a deep breath before exhaling deeply, attempting to let it all go.

“So, what now?” she asks.

“Well, you’ve probably caught on that we’re all kind of flailing in water and calling it swimming,” Octavia says humorlessly. “The good news is that Anya’s here, and she brought our friend Raven.”

Clarke stares blankly at Octavia for a moment, confused as to why Anya has decided to bring Raven into all of this. “And how exactly will a human will help us quell the apocalypse?”

“Because apparently she’s not a human after all.”

* * *

 

 

She comes to gradually, the constant pounding in her head more pronounced with increased awareness.

Her eyelids start to flutter open as she goes to raise her hands to grab at her aching head, blowing wide in apprehension when she finds her wrists tied, zipped to the armrests of a wooden kitchen chair.

When she fully lifts her head, the blurriness of her vision all but falls away as she scans the dark room.

“Shit,” she groans, remembering what Lincoln about how she’d been danger.

 _Is_ in danger.

Also, how could she forget how much headaches suck?

“Lexa,” she hears a familiar gruff come from behind her and she jumps a bit, taken off-guard. When she looks over her shoulder, Gustus is there, tied-up, looking as unsteady as Lexa feels.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, and she nods before she realizes he may not be able to see the gesture.

“I’m fine. Just – just a little hazy,” she mumbles, wincing as if pained by a bad hangover. “I can’t seem to remember… _how_ …”

“Nia,” he says, and she can’t see his face but knows he’s hissing through gritted teeth. Her confusion seems to hang heavily enough in the air that Gustus catches on before she has to ask. “She isn’t who you think she is,” he states, simply, and Lexa can’t help but let her thoughts drift to the confession her mother made in her last dream.

She wants to mention it, despite how ridiculous it would be to do so. It took so long to convince others that she wasn’t crazy. Saying something now could be a detriment to all her progress.

But the dream, it _felt_ real, and well –

“Are you?” she asks, shooting a hesitant glance over her shoulder, watching as Gustus stills and releases a long breath.

“Sounds like you already know the answer to that,” he says, and Lexa thinks she hears a bit of amusement in his voice. “Always too smart for your own good.”

“So, it’s true then? You’re not my father?” she asks in awe because holy shit, she’s not crazy.

“It’s true,” he confirms. “Not by blood, anyway.”

“If you’re not my birth father, then who is?” she asks, ignoring that _other_ part of what her mother said.

“If you found out that I’m not your father the way I think you found out, then you likely already know the answer to that as well.”

“Gustus,” she pleads, “I don’t need any more obscurity in my life right now. Please, just give me _something_.”

“When we get out of here, Lex, I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

“That’s,” she starts, then hesitates. She wants to say _that’s assuming we make it out of here alive_ , but it’s a little too direct, so she takes another approach. “That’s what Ned Stark said to Jon Snow, you know.”

Gustus lets out a hearty laugh at that, then replies, “Yeah, well, Ned made the right call. He was protecting Jon. If Ned had spilled the beans before he left for King’s Landing, there is no doubt in my mind that the Whitewalkers would take Westeros and bring on the apocalypse,” he explains, and there’s a quality of entertainment in his voice that Lexa can seem to pinpoint why it’s there.

“So, I suppose you’re not going to tell me what you were to her, then?” she asks, expecting to be shut down again.

“She was my best friend; I loved her,” he whispers. “Still do.” His confession is pained and heavy and laced with a hollowness that Lexa is all too familiar with. “She, uh – she didn’t tell me that she told you I was your dad. She didn’t tell me much of anything, to be honest. She had disappeared one day, then four years later, she shows up at my door with a sparkly-eyed three-year-old and I knew then I was a goner, so when you flashed me those big greens, and threw your arms around me, and called me _nontu_ , I didn’t have the heart to tell you… I – I wanted it to be true. I wanted to be your _nontu_ ,” he admits, and Lexa’s heart wrenches.

“You are, Gus,” she mumbles through the tears that stain her cheeks, that fall between her lips.

“That mother of yours,” he says, and she can tell he’s pleased, that he’s probably shaking his head in awe. “The woman was a force; always reading ahead but never spoiling anything for those of us stuck behind. I see so much of her in you, Lex. You’re my little Luna, and uh, I know she said this to you, being the Goddess of the Moon and all that, but I – I love you to the moon and back, too,” he says, and she smiles.

“I love you, too, Gu – wait, the _what_?” she yells, because _what_?! and apparently, it’s a bit too loud, as it takes all of two seconds before the cellar door flies open and a man is walking towards them.

Lexa schools herself, prepares herself for a harsh exchange with the man who lurks in the shadow, and when he finally speaks, she knows very well who it is.

“Wonderful of you both to finally wake up,” he says through a smug grin, and she can’t help but scowl and clinch her fists.

“Isn’t the whole bad boy persona getting a little out of hand?” she bites, barely keeping a straight-face when Gustus _giggles_.

“Oh, don’t worry, Lex. You and Gus here are going to find out first-hand how bad I really am,” he says, and Lexa _does_ laugh, because _come on_.

“Oh, _Roan_. You sound like a closeted gay villain who’s about to indulge himself,” she says through a smirk. “And you know, I’m your cousin, and not a dude, and so absolutely not interested, just so we’re clear. How ‘bout you, Gus?”

“Well, we’re not technically related, but still –  not really feeling the whole sexual experimentation thing right now. I would, however, like to add that there’s nothing wrong with it, and I think I speak for Lexa as well as myself when I say, we support you no matter what you decide,” he says. “Oh, and by that, I mean the whole villain thing; though, I should add that your evil get-up is truly heinous.”

“You guys are hilarious,” Roan snaps, his face cold and unaffected. “Be sure to try and hold onto that sense of humor. You’re going to need it for what we have in mind,” he says coolly.

“Which is what, exactly?” Lexa asks, unamused.

“Don’t worry, little cousin. You’ll find out soon enough,” Roan says, right before he hits her over the top of the head and knocks her unconscious.

It’s really just one of those days.

* * *

 

 

“Gather ‘round and take a seat! Raven’s come, she’s in your suite! She’ll shed some light, where darkness is, and blow your mind, ‘cause she’s the shi—”

“Raven! That’s enough with the rhyming!” Anya yells, interrupting the Goddess of Fire’s very _poetic_ , very _cool_ ice breaker.

“I kind of liked it,” Lincoln comments, and Raven smirks.

“ _Liked_ it?” she says, sending a wink Lincoln’s way, barely containing a chuckle when he visibly tenses at the implication. “Are you sure you didn’t _love_ it?”

Lincoln clears his throat loudly and sends her a look pleading her for her discretion, and she can’t help bit chuckle because messing with him is going to be _fun_. Honestly, his predicament is highly entertaining. Not only does he have humungous heart eyes for the Goddess of War – which, he probably doesn’t realize, but his feelings are mutual – but the kicker is that she has no idea _who_ he is. Raven chuckles again as she muses to herself. Love and War. _You can’t make this shit up!_

“Alright, alright, who has questions?” Raven asks, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise when everyone in the room raises their hand. “Oh, great, so none of you know what the hell is going on. Fantastic,” she comments, because fuck if this could be easy. “Anya, why don’t you go first?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you’re the stoke if you knew about me?” Anya asks.

“Balance. Those who are destined to help the flames and the stoke had to find all three naturally. It’s part of a sister prophesy…”

“Who are you?” an older woman questions, barely allowing Raven to finish.

“Who are you?” Raven asks back. She knows everyone, except for the woman and the curly-haired man. She nods to him too, while she’s at it, “Who is he?”

“I’m Clarke’s mother, Abigail. The Goddess of Health,” the woman says and Raven bites her lip, because fuck if this could be easy.

“Bellamy, Octavia’s brother,” the man says, but Raven can’t take her eyes off Abigail.

“Well, thank you for sharing, guys. I’m Raven. Actually, Abby – hope you don’t mind if I call you that – you might be interested in knowing my parentage…” she says, and Abby cocks her head. “Yeah, I mean one of my dads you probably don’t know, but the other, well… I was told you were very close once upon a time,” she continues, trying not to sneer.

“Oh?” is all Abby says and Raven takes a breath to calm herself.

“He’s always been a believer in the prophesy… He even tried to tell you that you would be one of the flame bearers, but you wrote him off and told Thelonious. He was banished and stripped of his emblem because of you,” she bites and when she sees regret in Abby’s eyes, she sighs.

“I – I didn’t know he was stripped. I was only told he was banished,” Abby says through pained eyes.

“Well,” Raven chokes out. “I guess you’re bound to be lied to when you put your faith in a man like Thelonious.”

“That’s – you don’t even know him,” Abby says incredulously. “He hasn’t –”

“What, Abby?” Bellamy chimes in. “Done anything wrong? He has been killing our people for years for their belief and commitment to the prophesy, Aurora now included. Also thanks to you, by the way.”

Abby’s mouth falls open, and Raven can tell that this is the first time the woman is hearing the news.

“Aurora?” she asks, a sob breaking through her.

And it occurs to Raven she’s got to get this all back on track.

“I’m sorry to everyone who knew and loved Aurora,” Raven sighs. “Let it be known from now until forevermore that Thelonious is hellbent on getting to the City of Light, and as such, is what I like to call a fire extinguisher. Thelonious, bad. Everyone got it?” A few heads nod and so Raven continues. “We’re running out of time, so we’re going to skip the Qs and go straight to the As, okay?”

Another wave of nods urge her to continue, so she takes a deep breath, and goes for it.

“In the beginning, there were primordial forces that created Light and Dark. These forces are unknown, but the fruit of their labor, AKA Light and Dark, came to be known as Rebecca and Alison, or Becca and Alie. Becca, Goddess of the Night, made the ground and the Ground Gods, as well as humanity. Alie, Goddess of Day, made the City of Light. Blah, blah, blah… skip a few hundred millennia and Becca and Alie decide to make Arkadia as a place for the Sky and Ground to rule over humanity side-by-side. Blah, blah, blah… Alie and Becca grew jealous and tense with one another, and apparently their growing feud threw off balance of the universe causing the primordial forces intervened; however, Alie and Becca wouldn’t hear it. All this was culminated when Alie killed Becca, which threw the balance even more out of whack. So, the primordial forces locked Alie in the City of Light and threw away the key, moving the Sky Gods in Arkadia. They then are said to have written the prophesy of the flames to restore the balance that was lost because of Alie and Becca’s actions.

With that said, here are some facts: I know everything I know because my dads told me, or at least the one that was around did. And yes, I have two biological fathers, but that isn’t important right now. I’ve read every prophesy and analyzed them multiple times over. I know all of our roles in this, or at least what the prophecies have said. Now, obviously, we know that we’ve got to get Clarke and Lexa together so they can restore balance, but there are some threats we face; for instance, Thelonious is one of them. But the problem is that it isn’t only Thelonious. There is an entire ‘cult’ dedicated to finding and extinguishing the flames – Thelonious is just an arm of the beast. They are not going to let the flames ignite without a fight, and unfortunately, time is on their side. So, with all the important need-to-know details out of the way, does anyone have any questions or comments?” Raven asks through a huff, looking around the room. When Clarke comes into vision, she sees the Goddess slumped over and her heart hurts for the blonde.

“Clarke, are you okay?” Raven asks. “I know this is a lot to take in, especially when you haven’t been privy to any of this before today.” The blonde looks up and nods, but she looks to be a bit out of it.

“I’m fine, I’m just – I’m really tired…” Clarke mumbles through a tired yawn, and Raven’s eyes widen in fear.

“Wait, Clarke,” Raven says, “How tired are you? Normal tired, or?” she asks, and when Clarke doesn’t respond, she rushed to the blonde to shake her awake while everyone else stares at them in confusion.

 

When Clarke jostles awake, her hands dig into Ravens wrists and Raven winces because this is really, really not good.

“Hey everyone,” Raven yells as she snaps her wrists out of Clarke’s hands. “Remember how I said I mentioned everything really important? Well, I may have forgotten to mention a few things regarding flame behavior. First thing is, when Lexa and Clarke are around one another, they become vulnerable. Even if they aren’t around one another, they will become more vulnerable, and as a result, more tired as time runs out. Lastly, to tempt them, they can interact with one another in dreams, which unfortunately means they could get trapped or try to stay there, and no-boom, we’re goners,” Raven says, letting her gaze wander around the room again.

“Clarke,” Raven calls out to the dazed girl once again, half-afraid she’s fallen asleep with her eyes open. “Clarke, did you hear anything I just said?”

* * *

 

 

Clarke lets the words ‘ _they can interact with one another in dreams’_ cycle through her head once more, until Raven starts shaking her again, pulling her from her thoughts.

“For Goddess’ sake, Clarke! Wake the fuck up!” Raven says, and when Clarke realizes they must have been trying to talk to her for quite some time, she sighs, swatting Raven’s hands away from her.

“I’m not asleep!” she yells before she has time to think of a better response.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Raven says. Everyone is looking on at them – Clarke sitting on the floor, leaning against a chair, Raven knelt in front of the blonde.

“I’m sorry, I just – you said that we can interact in dreams.”

“So, you were listening,” Raven comments through a half-smirk, and Clarke swats at her again.

“Yeah, well… only sort of,” she says with an echoing smirk. “I had a dream about a brunette earlier. Do you think that could have been Lexa?”

“Didn’t you see her face?” Raven asks, and Clarke shakes her head. “You weren’t close enough to see her face, but you could distinguish between brown and black hair?”

“I uh, the woman’s front was pressed against a mattress…”

“Holy shit! You took Lexa from behind in a dream!” Raven whisper-yells, and Clarke immediately feels her face flush as her mom’s eyes land on her.

“Ugh,” Clarke groans. “How do I know if she was there?”

“You mean how can you tell the difference from it being a regular dream and a shared dream?” Raven asks to clarify, and Clarke nods. “Well, first off, just let me say I hope performed well, because that would be _really_ embarrass—”

“Raven,” Clarke grumbles, and Raven chuckles.

“Listen, Clarke. Her front was pressed against the mattress, right? Well, if you didn’t see her maybe she didn’t see you…” she rationalizes, and Clarke nods, letting that sink in, releasing a sign of relief when it’s settled.

“Thank –” she starts, but Raven interrupts before she can finish her sentiment.

“Then again, if she does know it was you who fucked her into the mattress, it will be super awkward when you see her…”

“Oh god,” Clarke replies, already dreading their next interaction, which may very well be in another dream.

“Goddess,” Raven corrects.

“Oh Goddess,” Clarke dazedly appends.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it... Lincoln is the God of Love. :) Thoughts?
> 
> Revealed so far:  
> \- Thelonious | God of the Sky  
> \- Abigail | Goddess of Healing & Rejuvenation  
> \- Aurora | Goddess of Light  
> \- Octavia | Goddess of War  
> \- Anya | Goddess of Will  
> \- Lincoln | God of Love  
> \- Raven | Goddess of Fire  
> \- Luna | Goddess of the Moon


End file.
